


Not Playing by the Rules

by Saori



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Human Stiles Stilinski, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Role-Playing Game, Slow Build, Werewolf Derek, store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saori/pseuds/Saori
Summary: A werewolf walks into a LARP shop...Or, the AU no one asked for, featuring a messy LARP shop, Drama King Derek, Too Enthusiastic Stiles and fed up companions.





	Not Playing by the Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiedtogetherwithadagger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtogetherwithadagger/gifts).



> Based on the prompt: Nerd!Derek, no angst, crack, fluff, comfort.
> 
> Kat, thank you so much for the prompt! The fic turned out not exactly nerd!Derek, and I wouldn't go as far to call it crack, but I hope you like it just as much as I loved to write it. And I seriously loved writing it. Your request was so out of my depth, things I've never written before, it was truly a challenge, especially when at 13k I realized there's no angst in it, but I think I managed alright! 
> 
> I want to say a galaxy-sized thanks to my beta, [Kiromenanz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiromenanz), who's been so helpful, thorough and lovely! For all you've done for me, I adore you.
> 
> (Also, this is my first published Sterek fic. Huh.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek doesn’t know how his life came to this. He must have done something terrible in the past to deserve such a fate. The pain is unbearable, his ears are ringing and his chest feels too tight. He wishes it wouldn’t happen like this. He wishes he never said “yes”.

His whole life flashes in front of his eyes. Starting from one of his first memories, sharing a stupid fish tank toy with Laura on a Christmas. He’s not sure how old the memory is. He could’ve been three, or even seven. Thinking about it makes his chest ache as he remembers her smile, wide and cheerful in the soft fairy lights.

He wishes he could go back, and let Laura play as much as she wants. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be here now. Maybe if he would have been nicer to his family, appreciated them more in his teenage years, all of this would’ve never happened.

“Oh my God, quit sulking, it’s just shopping, Derek!” Cora’s voice tears through his line of thought and for a brief moment, Derek wonders if it’s real. If she’s really here. “Could you be more of a drama queen?”

“Cora,” Derek sighs softly. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he can go back to those times, those simpler and softer times, before Cora was born. Escape from the cruel reality. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to what’s to come. He opens the door, the door to his destiny.

“Move it, Derek, you’re standing there like you just entered Hell,” Cora hits his back and Derek sighs deeply, wishing he did. He bets it would be better than a fucking roleplay shop.

He steps aside to let two kids with disappointed expression push past him, eyeing him up and down before escaping this hellhole. Out through the door, which is quickly becoming Derek's favorite thing in the shop.

Sure, the glass on it is covered in fantasy posters and a white sign, saying: “ _Thomberien_ \- Home of elves, warlocks and Vulcans. Caution! This is a portal to another world,” but Derek isn’t picky. If it wasn’t for the display of sharp objects, he would even take the window if it would mean an escape from this place.

The rest of the shop is messy. No, scratch that, it’s chaotic. There’s no specific areas for different types of stuff, at least not a system Derek can determine with a quick look around. There’s clothes, armors, weapons and all kind of different shit all over the place.

Derek refuses to touch anything that’s not what they came for. Cora looks around as well, eyebrows raised at the state of the shop, but then shrugs, stepping up to a glass case of daggers. Derek looks over her shoulders and almost chokes on his spit. Who do these people think they are to sell a knife, not bigger than Derek’s palm, for over two thousand dollars?

“No touching!” comes a voice from deeper inside the shop just as Derek is moving his hand to try to open the display and take the knife out. He looks up, nostrils spreading as he pulls his hand back, searching for the source of the voice.

“Let’s get what we came here for,” Derek grunts when he doesn’t succeed, grabbing Cora’s arm. He doesn’t even know where the real stuff is, so they just circle in the maze of the shop for a few minutes.

“Can I help you with anything?” they hear the same voice from earlier, and they exchange a look before Derek nods, not wanting to be the one who talks. Cora rolls her eyes, turning in the direction where the voice came from.

“Actually, yes. We’re here from the Hale pack, our emissary said the order he placed should be here by now,” she says and Derek pales in horror.

“Cora!” he hisses, grabbing her arm again to draw her attention to him, glaring pointedly at her. She just shrugs.

“What, Deaton said we can be open with them. If he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, well, we’re in a LARP shop, it’s not like we sound insane,” she says smugly, shrugging off Derek’s grip.

“Oh, so wolves, right? What does emissary means with you lot by the way? Like, I know what an emissary is, traditionally, but I’ve never heard werewolves having one. Do you use him for talking to humans or something like that? Actually, since he comes here, I guess it’s more magical with you guys,” says the bodiless voice, still not moving closer. “Well then, you can only pick up your order at the checkout. Drag your furry asses over here.”

Derek frowns, and maybe even growls if the look Cora sends him is any indication. They look around, heading in the direction of the voice, but end up between even more clothes racks and a shelf full of futuristic-looking gadgets.

“Wait, is that offensive? Sorry, I’m not that into wolf RP. I guess dog jokes are inappropriate. Hey, guys, why are you going to the alien section?” he asks, sounding distant again, and Derek doesn’t like that despite hearing him clearly, they don’t see him.

“I think we’re lost,” Cora admits with a pull of her mouth.

“Oh! Sorry, you’ve never been here! Okay, umm, there’s a clothes rack on your left with the tentacles-- yes, you’re looking at it, big guy. Come around that, turn right, you see the board games? Turn left and--“

And they see him. Hidden in the jungle of t-shirts and other official merchandise, in a hole in the wall checkout sits a guy. He has short hair, a flannel over his Green Lantern shirt, and really pale skin.

He is sitting behind a counter with a glass display on top, with weapons, crystals and jewelry inside it. There’s a desk underneath, where Derek guesses the guy’s workplace is. It’s hard to see from where he and Cora are standing. There’s two screens peeking out from behind the glass, one turned away from the customers, the other showing what the cameras see in the shop.

The guy is leaning back in a chair that bends backwards too much to not be broken, with his feet up on the desk. He has a bag of chips in his lap, and he doesn’t seem too bothered by having two customers watching as he buries his hand deep into it.

 “There you are!” the guy says, his posture not changing to anything more respectful, he just turns his head and grins up at them. “Aren’t vampires the ones who are supposed to look perfect? Jeez, guys, you’re giving me a complex.” He says it without heat behind his words, dusting off his hand on his jeans covered thighs.

“Our order,” Derek barks impatiently, because they didn’t come here for small talk. He wants to leave and never come back.

“Right!” The guy says, a few hertz louder than necessary, pulling his legs down from the counter, groaning and hissing as they meet the floor with a thump. He takes his thighs in his hands, individually shaking them before he stands, grunting at the new position.

“So, what is the name of this emissary of yours?” he asks, turning on the computer screen next to the camera monitors, clicking a few times with a frown.

“Alan Deaton,” Core offers with her elbows on the glass display of the counter, tracing a dagger with her finger. It’s curled with golden inlay, and it looks like something out of an Asian action movie, unnecessarily flashy and rich.

“Oh! Say no more, I’ll be a minute,” the guy says, turning and rushing out behind the counter, disappearing behind the alien section.

“This is taking too long,” Derek mutters, getting bored of looking at the crystals on the other side of the display. Banging and cursing is coming from the back where the guy apparently can't find their order, and Cora sends a worried look that way.

“We’re shopping, the moment we step inside is already too long for you,” she says with a roll of her eyes. Derek’s ready to reply when the human cheers in victory, soon waving a brown package as he appears again. Derek cringes when he hears glasses bumping together inside.

“Found it! Deaton usually picks it up an hour after it arrives, that’s why it was buried under… well, it’s better if you don’t know,” he sends them a wink as he returns behind the counter, putting the package inside, clicking away on his computer.

“And how’s the good ol’ vet, why couldn’t he pick it up? It’s very unusual that he trusts anyone else with this stuff,” he says as he picks up a scanner from the corner, turning the box so he can scan the bar on the bottom of it. “He doesn’t even trust Scott with it, and the guy is a literal puppy. Worked for him since high school, one would think trust comes after the teen rebellion.”

“Scott? Scott McCall?” Cora blinks, looking over at Derek. They share a look, but then Derek shrugs.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” the guy mutters, clearly distracted with something on the computer, until he frowns. “Ugh, bars don’t match.”

“Can you give it to us or can’t you?” Derek asks impatiently, tapping a finger on the counter. This is his fucking luck, it’s not enough that he’s trapped in this… swamp of freaky things, and he can’t even leave.

“Well,” the guy drawls the word out, clicking a few times, scanning again, and then sighing. “Unless I can open it and check the content, I’m afraid you have to wait until I re-order and it comes with the right code,” he says, sucking his lips in his mouth and looking up at them with raised brows.

“Your call, guys, but if I break or damage anything, it’s on you.” He shrugs, waiting for them to decide. On one hand, Derek really, _really_ wants to leave, but to let this kid grope around Deaton’s magic supplies with greasy hands…

“We’ll tell Deaton Derek dropped it,” Cora interrupts his thoughts, and Derek glares, a threat hanging on the tip of his tongue. That’s when the guy barks out a laugh, agreeing and quickly undoing the lock on the side of the display, pulling out the flashy dagger and cuts into the package.

Derek’s pretty sure the tip of the knife isn’t supposed to go that deep. Or that quick. How did it not come out on the other side of the box yet? _No, no, rip the sides with your hands, please, don’t use the knife_ \-- damnit.

Derek closes his eyes when he hears the rip as the guy reaches for the wings of the box to pull it open. He really hopes Deaton didn’t order any books.

“Oops,” he hears and feels like crying. He hates this place. He wants to leave like, yesterday. He doesn’t notice he’s holding onto Cora’s arm like his life depends on it, until she steps on his foot with full force. He lets go and opens his eyes to glare.

“I can fix it, promise!” the cashier says, holding up his hands as proving he’s unarmed, eyes fixed on the box. “Good thing we have the order in our database,” he says, clicking away on his computer. A printer goes off by his leg, and he snatches the paper up slamming it on the counter, then reaching in the box to pull out the paper he ripped.

It was only the shipping order. Derek wants to throw a celebration party.

“Alrighty, so we’ve got once an old stick,” the guy says, pulling out the item and placing it on the glass in front of Cora. “That must be,” he drawls out, running a finger down the list. “Ah! _Sorbus aucuparia_ , also known as mountain ash!” Derek and Cora jerk back from the counter, and the guy looks up surprised, raising his eyebrow at them.

“Um, okay.” He shakes his head, looking back down. “Then we’ve got a purple crystal for the ladies, Charoite if I’m not mistaken, use to heal the sick and elderly, hope your grandma is doing fine,” he says as he places the crystal a little further from the mountain ash, giving Cora opportunity to inspect it. She doesn’t move closer.

“Three glasses of powder that I suspect are the Greek looking names on our list, Lydia would know what the hell they are. And finally a silver medal, if my late night visits on suspicious websites don’t lie a triskelion, also Greek, represents the rotation of life, reincarnation and renewal, like phoenixes.”

He holds up the medal, and Derek straightens, skin itching between his shoulder blades. Why does Deaton need one of those?

“And that’s all, folks!” the cashier says, moving to put the medal back in the box.

“Don’t put that away,” Derek says, and his hand shots out unintentionally, just above the mountain ash to hold the guy’s wrist.

The cashier’s heart skips a beat, then starts racing, eyes widen as he looks at Derek in the eye, nostrils flaring, shoulders gone tense. Derek’s jaw twitches as he slowly loosens his grip, prying away his hand from the delicate, _human_ wrist finger by finger, letting go eventually and stepping back. He bumps into Cora, who moved as soon as him, ready to stop her brother.

The awkward silence stretches as the guy’s breathing slows down, heart still beating out his chest. He slides the medal further out of his palm, placing it very slowly on the counter, pulling back and clearing his throat.

“Right. Um, we have a no touching policy. Okay, that’s for expensive stuff, like the daggers but I think we can put cashier guys in that category-- oh, we have a collection of Stargate weapons now, functioning and all, it’s very cool.” The guy seems momentarily distracted by whatever his line of thought was, but Derek doesn’t mind, as long as they don’t mention this incident again. With that the guy relaxes, returning to his casual appearance, stuffing the items back in the box, except the triskelion.

“You should see the Zats, those babies are smooth, and I couldn’t put them down for two weeks after they arrived. I mean, I know Stargate isn’t as well-known as Star Trek, but holy shit that TV show is miles away from that. I tried to build a Stargate at home after that episode of the ancient boy Sam makes out with--“

“How much?” Derek interrupts his rambling as the boy tapes the box shut again, putting it on the glass display in front of Derek. The guy blinks, mouth hanging open mid-sentence, before he shakes his head, blinking some more.

“Uh, yeah, erm, Deaton usually sends the money over. Like, we're living in the 21st century, or what the fuck kids call modern times these days. But what can you do.” He shrugs, picking up something from the desk that Derek can’t see, sliding it into the box on the side, where the tape didn’t seal properly.

“Thanks,” Derek says, picking up the box and turning.

“Um, wait,” they hear the guy letting out a pained sound and a creak out metal. Looking back, Derek sees him leaning on the counter, one leg thrown on top of the glass display like he wanted to climb over it, but couldn’t. Derek really hopes that he doesn’t do that usually, seeing his crotch is now pressed to where Cora was leaning a few minutes ago.

“Triskelion.” He holds out his hand, grunting like the breath was knocked out of him. “Please don’t ever let me do that again,” Derek hears him whining quietly when he walks back to the medal. “My balls, my precious balls!”

Derek almost laughs. He really wants to. But when he turns back, he can see Cora has a wide, teasing grin on her face, and Derek has an image to uphold. He grunts his thanks, then they finally walk out. On the fresh air he can breathe again, feeling like he’s been drowning the whole time inside the shop.

“Jesus, and I thought there wasn’t anyone who could match uncle Peter’s sense of drama, but here you are, getting protective over a medal,” Cora grunts, turning and what could be best described as aggressively walking away towards the car. “It’s official, I’m not going shopping with you ever again!” she calls over her shoulder and Derek sighs, looking down at the silver medal before following his sister.

He’s swears there and then, unless they drag his lifeless, limp body back here, he’s not going to set a foot in that shop, ever again.

——

 Two weeks later finds him in front of the hideous shop front. He grits his teeth, claws biting into the soft leather of the book he needs to return for Deaton because the vet is too busy to do so. Or the kid is too lazy to drag his ass over and take it back. Derek doesn’t care, he just generally hates the idea of being Deaton’s errand boy.

He takes a deep breath (his last breath) and pushes the door open, the bell above it ringing. This time, he doesn’t need to look around where to go, heading straight to the checkout.

When he gets there, he’s stopped by the smell of too sweet perfume, mixed with salty pretzels and mint. He arrives at the counter, looking up and seeing, not the kid from earlier, but a girl sitting there.

She’s wearing a light floral dress with a red cardigan, equally red hair falling over her shoulder. She's sitting in a similar fashion as the guy was last time, except there's a chair beneath her feet. Her ankles are crossed and a magazine is open in her lap, her full focus on the article she's reading.

“I brought back your book,” Derek says, straight to the point as always.

“None of my business,” she mumbles, not even glancing up, pursing her lips at the words she’s reading. Derek's stare switches from her magazine to her face and back again, but if she notices, she makes no move to acknowledge it.

“I’ll just leave it here then,” he says, ready to set the book down and leave.

“Mm, not here, you’re not,” she says, again, not even paying him any attention. Derek glares some more. It’s not working. Before he can decide to just leave the book and leave, she sighs deeply, like she’s about to do something extremely straining and looks over at him from the corner of her eyes.

“Stiles!” she screeches suddenly, so sharp that Derek flinches, hands almost yanking up to cup his ears. He catches himself in time.

“What!” answers a familiar voice. It's muffled like he's in another building. Derek can’t decide where it’s coming from.

“Deaton got your book back!” she yells. This time Derek is more prepared, but it’s still ear piercingly sharp.

“Send him up!”

“Stairs by the FBI badges,” is all she says, then turns back to her reading, seemingly already forgetting his existence. Derek huffs, closing his eyes for a moment before he turns around, looking for said badges. He turns back for a second, debating whenever or not it’s worth asking for directions, but he vetoes the idea. He steps away, wandering around for a minute before ending up at the front of the store.

He’s about to give up, when something shiny catches his eye and he turns to the left, where a row of display shelves are pushed against the wall. He steps closer, eyes landing on several badges; firefighter, cop, CDC, CIA, FBI.

There are the stairs, leading up almost vertically, and he has to bow his head to avoid banging it into the low ceiling. He comes up to what seems to be an attic, filled with several bookcases, similar to a library. At the end of the room, right opposite him, are a set of armchairs and sofas around a coffee table, where he can only see a pair of legs. The person resting them on the glass of the table is sitting low on the sofa with their back to Derek, and he stalks forward.

The floor creaks under his weight.

“Dr. D, D-man, it’s been a while,” _Stiles_ turns with a wide grin set on his face that melts, mouth dropping open, as soon as he sees Derek. He stares at him, speechless.

“Your book,” Derek raises the item along with his eyebrows. The place smells like paper and coffee.

“Oh, um, yeah, sure, just--“ he scrambles to his feet, pulling on his clothes in a weak attempt to straighten them. “These books are very rare, I hope you were careful with it on the way,” _Stiles_ says, walking up to Derek with an extended arm, pulling the book from his hand before he has time to react. He examines the cover, humming and frowning at the dents his claws made.

“Thanks for taking it back, wolf-man,” _Stiles_ grins, raising his hand in attempt to pat Derek’s shoulder, then frowning before letting it fall. “Hey, you and your… girlfriend?”

“Sister,” Derek corrects grunting.

“Right, so how long have you been LARP-ing? I mean, you really need to embrace it to be so casual about it with a stranger, but again, I guess you know I wouldn’t judge, since we’re in a LARP shop and all, and--“

“We’re not ‘LARP-ing’,” Derek snarls, cutting off the flailing boy, taking a step back before he’s hit by the book.

“Oh, yeah, sure, wolf-man, uh,” he raises his hands, forming a ‘T’ like in high school P.E. “Time-out? So, it’s like a constant thing? Like-- like a sort of lifestyle?” he asks, seemingly eager for the information. Derek frowns. He has no idea what _Stiles_ is talking about. He says as much. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s not like it’s that weird, I mean, dude, people do that shit for living. You know, actors? And I guess people with certain… fetishes. I mean, is it like a fetish by the way? No judging here at all, I was just wondering if--“

“I’m leaving,” Derek says, and turns around without making an excuse about why, heading for the stairs. He hears _Stiles_ sigh, then drop down on the sofa with a huff.

——

 Derek hates his life. He genuinely does. And all the reason can be put in one word: _Thomberien_.

Who the hell does his mom think she is? Okay, fine, Deaton is missing, too bad for him, but why is nobody thinking of Derek here? And since when does Cora not have _legs_? Or his whole family in general? How dare Deaton go missing just when Talia decides not to take any of Derek’s shit?

This time, when he enters the shop, it’s different. There are new smells of people lingering in the air, he can see a lone man browsing the badges and a group of suspicious teenagers rummaging through clothes.

As he walks up to the checkout, it’s Stiles again, this time leaning on the glass countertop, squinting down at a crossword puzzle with a pen hanging from his mouth. He’s moved the flat LCD monitor with the CCTV footage over on the glass display as well, so all he has to do to see is to look up.

“Hey, wolf-man, sorry but Deaton’s order is not here yet,” he hears Stiles mumble distractedly around his pen, not even looking up. It feels odd, seeing the kid so settled, quiet. The only movement is his hand, rolling some stone around in his fingers.

“It’s an emergency. I need Amazonite and this, whatever this is,” he states, dropping the notebook Talia scribbled the recipe down on, onto the crossword. He points at where she circled the name of the ingredient they don’t have.

“Um, dude,” Stiles frowns, looking up, annoyed. He must see something on Derek’s face, because he looks pained for a second before he looks back down to the notebook.

He sighs, looking at the circled item, straightening and tapping it with his pointer twice. He goes for the back of the checkout cabin, but instead of stepping out as Derek thought he would, he picks up a phone off the wall that Derek didn’t notice being there before. He presses number one, long, then Derek hears, what would be too faint for human ears, a phone going off upstairs. The ceiling groans as someone moves up there, then he hears the voice in the phone.

“What,” she asks, and it’s the same girl from the last time Derek was here.

“I need something from upstairs,” says Stiles, looking over in the direction of Derek, but his eyes are on the monitor, narrowing.

“What is it?” she asks, voice neutral.

“A small, black vial with the label ‘Nope’,” he says, shrugging at Derek even though he didn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know anything, he just wants to leave. Stiles hangs up as the girl promises she won’t be a minute.

He turns, but not back to where Derek is standing, tapping impatiently on the glass, but back towards the cabinets on the far wall, pulling out a key and opening one. Derek doesn’t see what’s inside, but he guesses it’s where the real things are stored, away from the too curious role-players. Stiles returns to the counter just as the girl appears from behind the ‘alien section’.

“Here,” she says, handing over a small vial, turning and leaving without looking at either of them. Stiles places that and a blue stone on the glass display, typing something in the computer, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he turns in body to Derek, still eyeing the screen.

“That would be six hundred wolf-man,” he says, turning his full attention to Derek with a content expression. Derek almost chokes.

“What the hell about this is so expensive,” he gestures to the vial and the stone, pulling his wallet from the rear pocket of his jeans.

“It’s extremely hard to collect and it’s from my personal collection.” Stiles shrugs, smiling. “You can wait for the man-made version of it that costs sixty, but you said it’s an emergency, so I will be generous enough to provide you the quality stuff,” he says, glancing at the vial pointedly.

“This shop is unreasonably expensive,” Derek grunts, and to his surprise, Stiles lets out an overly amused laugh.

“Dude, we’re the only LARP shop in the whole area, meaning the closest one is in L.A. or Vegas. And we have the good, not made in China shit. See this sheath?” He points at a simple leather sheath in the counter display. It costs more than Laura’s clothes. “Komodo dragon skin. Legit.” He grins lopsidedly, tilting his head.

“Sure.” Derek rolls his eyes, pulling out his card. Stiles shrugs, clicking on his computer and putting the POS machine on top of the display, nodding. Derek pays, then Stiles pulls out a plastic bag from under the desk. It has the most obnoxious font advertising the shop, slipping the items inside with the block.

“Thank you for your purchase. Have a nice day.” Stiles grins like he has won something, and he probably did, selling such an expensive product. Derek already has the door open, when he hears Stiles yell after him: “And enjoy your new toys!”

Derek wants to punch him. Just a little bit. The door gently slides in place behind him. This is it. This is the last time he ever showed up even in the area.

——

The good news is (to some): Deaton survived. The bad news is: he’s injured. And he needs medicine. Supernatural medicine.

Why couldn’t he just run off to Vegas and get randomly married, like any other vet? The aftermath would be so much easier to deal with. Because apparently, once again, his family collectively lost their legs and therefore, Derek was sent to the shop.

This is the first time he’s going on the weekend, too, and he has no idea if the shop is even open. He wishes it wasn’t. Or he could just procrastinate a little. Hopefully until Deaton gets better on his own.

Which is not going to happen, because he was zapped by some supernatural creature that could have really just scratched him up a little with a knife. There was no need for anything this overly complicated, like a spell.

When Derek arrives in front of the shop, he stops for a second to prepare himself to what’s to come. He doesn’t want to deal with Stiles again, he really doesn’t. As soon as he gets back home, he will make a point of not going again. With something final, like moving to Canada. Or Mexico, Derek is not picky.

Pushing the door open, he finds the shop lacking any of it’s stillness that he came to associate with it. There are people, around a dozen of them, all upstairs. Derek can hear their heartbeat, the shuffling of their clothes as they move. They talk too much, at the same time, so he can’t make out any words.

He hopes they’re accompanied by the girl cashier, but as he gets closer to the register, he smells the too-sweet perfume and the aroma of new clothes that lingers around the girl. He clenches his teeth as he gets in her line of sight, the girl looking up for a moment, then goes back to whatever she is doodling on top of the glass display in a notepad.

“Lydia! We have a customer!” comes a strange voice from the back. He turns towards it, frowning, but the alien section blocking his view.

The girl - Lydia - sighs exaggerated, shaking her head a little. She doesn’t look up from her doodling.

“Yes, Joe, you weren’t chosen for the prom king for no reason,” she says, not even trying to be quiet about it, “must have been your ability to state the obvious like any other brainless lacrosse team captain.”

“Lacrosse?” slips out of Derek unintentionally, because it seems oddly specific for a witty comeback like that.

“Did you come here for anything, or just to flirt with Stiles again?” Lydia asks, finally looking up through her eyelashes. Derek frowns at the look, because it’s intimidating and the ‘wolf is not used to that from a human. There’s a very small group of people who can intimidate Derek and this girl is not one of them.

“I don’t flirt. I came here for ingredients,” Derek snaps, jaw clenching as he tosses the notebook on the glass display.

“Well, go and get them,” Lydia raises her eyebrows, pushing the notebook further away from her with her pen, like it’s something disgusting.

“I need these from your real collection, not just some dirt and colored water.” Derek glares, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She straightens up finally, her stance confident and dominant. She doesn’t seem as short as she is, behind the high counter. “We don’t sell cheap items here, and all of our powders and fluids are legit.”

Her heartbeat gives her away, when she says the word “legit”, just a small delay in the beat and the next, but Derek is a born ‘wolf, unlike Scott and other bitten ones, he’s not easily fooled.

“They’re for Deaton.” Derek eyes her up and down, hoping to get her moving like Stiles did the first time they mentioned Deaton’s name.

“Deaton can get his own ingredients as he always does.” Lydia rolls her eyes, seemingly disappointed, which makes Derek frown. What is she disappointed about?

“I need these to save him.” Derek pointedly looks down on the notebook, still where Lydia pushed it.

“Well, you can get them like any other customer, go around the shop and pick them,” she replies, making a lazy hand gesture to encompass the whole shop. Derek is getting really annoyed. Lydia doesn’t get it like Stiles does. Where the hell is the boy anyways?

“Where is Stiles,” he hisses, to which he earns a satisfied look from Lydia. He feels judged and doesn’t like it.

“Upstairs,” she smiles, flipping her hair over her shoulder and leaning back down to continue doodling. Just like last time, the girl is done with him, ignoring his whole existence like he was never here.

Derek huffs, snatching up the notebook and storming away from the counter, in the direction of the stairs. As he gets near, the voices and heartbeats from when he entered get stronger along with the overwhelming smell of _human_ in the shop.

Derek climbs the stairs, reaching the library. There’s a group of people, gathered around the coffee table on the sofas and armchairs. They’re all different, from teenagers to a middle-aged man.

Stiles is there, biting his lips and fist bumping, just as Derek spots him. The others groan, some leaning back in their seats, beaten.

“Booya! Dare to fuck with _Thomberien’s_ bests next time, loser.” He grins. Derek frowns, stepping forward, heading towards Stiles. Everyone looks up and over at him, quieting down. “Wolf-man?!” Stiles squeaks, flailing, trying to stand up, but Derek is faster, stepping up to him and dropping the notebook in his lap.

“Those. Now,” he states, then turns to leave and wait for Stiles downstairs.

“I’m-- You-- What?!” Derek hears Stiles gasping, but doesn’t turn to explain. He climbs back down the stairs, turning to face the doorway of it with his arms crossed. “Jesus. Okay, just a moment. Dude is a bit impatient, I better go now before he separates Joe’s head from his neck,” Stiles says upstairs, the movement of the armchairs scraping the wood as he stands.

Derek still hears him when Stiles is on his way to the staircase, muttering under his breath: “What the Hell does he need all these stuff for, what are these people doing in their free time?”

When Stiles arrives at the bottom of the stairs, he’s still looking at the list. When he realizes Derek is directly in front of him, he startles. “Dude! Not cool.” He shakes his head, gesturing to Derek to follow him. “You know, this is why we have more than one person working here. Like Lydia? Petite, pretty redhead? She can find this stuff just as good as I can,” he notes as he leads Derek up to the checkout that’s now empty.

“She didn’t help,” Derek says, crossing his arms as Stiles steps behind the counter to take out things from the shelf inside the cabin.

“Well, I mean it’s not like it’s in our job description to serve you extremely rare items,” he says, turning back and waving the two vials in his hands. “You’re lucky that your… what was it? Emissary? So, that Deaton is a very well paying regular. If I didn’t know you need things for him, I would give you the regular stuff.” While he says that, he pulls out some more items, then takes them all up to the counter.

“How much,” Derek grunts, tired of the guy’s rambling.

“Well, manners didn’t suddenly become your strong suit these past few days, did they?” Stiles blinks, then grins when Derek just stares. Then his grin becomes sharper, making him look way too smug for Derek’s liking. “You know what, say ‘please’ and I’ll give you a discount.”

“I don’t need a discount. How much,” Derek states, taking a step closer to the counter, looking up from under his eyelashes, hopefully making him look even more intimidating. Stiles turns his eyes to the sky and sighs, starting to type on the computer.

“That’s eight hundred for you, wolf-man,” he says, smiling widely at Derek, as if he won something. Derek doesn’t pay attention to him, pulling out his wallet and paying, while Stiles pulls out a plastic bag from under the desk.

“No,” Derek protests immediately, “I’m taking them in hand.”

“Um, dude,” Stiles raises his eyebrows, gesturing at the vials, crystals and powder containers. “Isn’t it a bit too much to carry around?”

“No,” he snaps, pulling the items towards him, taking them all in his hands and turning to leave the shop.

So, he has to open the door with his elbow, it’s not a big deal. He wishes he could stop to stare some more at Stiles when he hears his delighted laughter, but one of the crystals is slipping out between his pinky and ring finger.

——

 “Have you ever been here?” Scott asks as he gets out of the car, but beats him in answering. “I know you’re a born ‘wolf and all, but the place stinks, so better prepare yourself. And please be patient with Stiles, he’s--“ Scott’s still talking when they enter the shop, but is cut off at the loud bang that comes from the checkout. Scott and Derek share a look and go to see what happened.

“Ow, I’m broken, this is it, the end of Stiles and his ability to walk, ugh,” Stiles mutters as he’s lying on the floor, next to a broken chair. Derek sighs. He knew the chair would give up, it was not meant to bend that far back. It’s truly a wonder Stiles didn’t notice earlier.

Derek shows great self-control in containing his eye roll as Scott quickly jumps over the counter, helping his friend up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, always the concerned puppy.

“No, Scott, I’m not fucking--“ he starts, hissing, then looks up, straightening and pulling on his clothes. “Wolf-man! How can I help you on this bright--“ he glances to the computer screen, eyes narrowing.

“Wednesday,” Scott whispers and it earns him a slap on the biceps, which he rubs with a frown. The kid really is good at pretending to be human.

“As I was saying, on this bright Wednesday afternoon?” Stiles asks, moving to the counter with a wide grin. Derek growls. “Dude, are you even aware? I told you, it’s like lifestyle. Because you live your life--“ he cuts off and sighs. “Okay, whatever. So, no order today, is it another supernatural emergency?” he asks, and Scott’s eyes grow to the size of plates in panic, in reaction to the way Stiles phrased his sentence.

“We’re here to ask you about this.” Derek ignores Scott in order to drop the notebook on the glass display. Stiles isn’t looking at it, he narrows his eyes at Derek.

“What am I exactly, an encyclopedia?” he asks, pulling the notebook closer without looking.

“No, those are usually quiet,” Derek says, folding his arms over his chest.

“You--“ Stiles gapes, but before he can finish, Scott steps up next to him.

“Deaton doesn’t know what it is and we need info about it,” he tells Stiles, throwing a pointed look at Derek.

“Dude, your boss is the weirdest fucking vet I’ve ever met, have I told you yet?” Stiles asks as he looks down at the paper, frowning at the symbol.

“A few times, yes,” Scott smiles crookedly, looking over at Derek, amused. Derek is not amused. He has to be in this hellhole, there’s nothing amusing about it, not even how Stiles rolls his eyes, pushing out his tongue in mockery.

“Give me a few days and I’ll be smarter,” he says at last, shrugging at the notebook.

“Will you?” Derek snorts under his breath, then louder he says: “I’m not leaving the notebook here, are you sure you’ll remember the symbol?” Derek raises his eyebrows. Stiles narrows his eyes at him, not fazed at all as he pulls out his phone, taking a picture of the symbol.

“Modern technology,” he says, mouth open as he licks over the inside of his bottom lip with his raised eyebrow in challenge. Derek is not impressed. “Beat this, asshole.”

“Werewolf,” he answers and considers popping his claws just to prove his point. “Nothing would remain of your body.” Stiles gapes at him as if outraged, gripping the edge of the desk.

“Dude,” he says, then steps back. “I’m so not buying your threats,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

Scott looks completely thrown off by the exchange, but he shakes his head and blinks a few times to readjust himself.

“Keep me updated bro,” Scott says as he claps Stiles on the shoulder, hopping over the register with a bit more werewolf grace than Derek thinks is necessary.

“Will do!” Stiles answers cheerfully, humming as he pulls the chair upright again. Derek is quickly out of the door, before Stiles drops down on it again. Derek could guess it will happen, but it’s nice to hear the confirmation of Stiles forgetting about the backrest and leaning back anyways, his groan of pain still heard from outside as he, once again, falls off.

——

 “Look, I’m just as unhappy about this as you are,” Scott says when Derek gets out of his car. Scott has been waiting here for him for half an hour now.

“I doubt that,” Derek replies, locking his car and double checking before he turns, heading to the shop without even glancing at the younger ‘wolf.

“Derek, you and Stiles are the weirdest pair I’ve ever seen interacting before. Plus, I know where your claws has been before, I’m not really fond of the idea of letting you near my brother.”

“He’s not your brother. I am. You should have my back against Talia.” Derek is pissed, alright? Scott is a fully accepted member of the pack now, no need to send Derek to make sure he delivers the correct information. Scott isn’t even a good liar, chances of him giving the pack false information are paper thin.

“Man, no, Talia is my alpha. You shouldn’t even be against her in the first place.”

“She’s my mom, I do whatever I want.” He doesn’t notice they’re inside the shop when he mutters that, so he’s a little taken aback by the comment from Stiles:

“And this is how a rebellious teenager sounds like, ladies and gents,” he says, with his back to them as he adjusts some clothes on the rack right opposite the entrance. Derek frowns at his plaid shirt covered back.

“You would know,” comes another, feminine voice from the checkout. It’s new, having the both of them here at the same time. “I don’t know who takes courses every Sunday to learn how to cook healthy for their dad,” Lydia says, and from the sound Derek guesses she’s looking through another one of her magazines.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Stiles waves her away as he turns, grinning at Derek and Scott. “Hey, wolf-man!” Stiles exclaims, gesturing them to follow him to the checkout. He gets behind the counter as Lydia stands and with a huff she leaves the room entirely.

Stiles gets a book from the desk. The book is already open, Stiles probably reading it before they got here. He puts it on the glass display, turning towards them, pointing at a drawing of the symbol.

“I already texted Deaton this, but you can take the book if you’d like as well. Basically, the symbol is alchemist, means renewal in a way, but combined with this other symbol, according to my resources it’s something like ‘death to all, so I live’. I know, charming.” Stiles leans down, supporting his chin on his palms, smiling up at them.

“Wait, Deaton texts?” Scott asks with a furrow between his brows, and Stiles turns his eyes to the sky, straightening up.

“Duh. You know, Scotty, you should sometimes talk to him about something other than how to stick thermometers in dogs’ butts. It’s good for your mental health if you, you know, like, don’t automatically think of dog butts when you run into him while grocery shopping and stuff like that.”

“Thanks, bro, I owe you one,” Scott says, choosing to ignore Stiles’ comment.

“And I’m taking you up on that, I have a favor to ask. Wolf-man, I’m surprised you weren’t out the door the moment I shared this information with you, now, unless you want to hear about my dick in explicit detail-- And he’s gone.” Stiles sounds like he’s grinning while Derek heads to the door, exiting before he really does hear anything about said body part.

——

Derek doesn’t like strangers on his territory. What he hates even more is when said strangers threaten his pack and family.

Stiles’ translation of the symbol they found around the preserve didn’t help them much at first, but when the three bodies showed up near their house, it didn’t matter anymore. They were torn to shreds, clearly a ‘wolf’s doing. It’s a clear threat to the pack. That’s all Derek needs to know.

Of course Talia thinks differently. She wants to know what these other ‘wolves are here for so they can work out a pact with them. Derek doesn’t share that sentiment, but he isn’t the alpha, he has no say in the matter. So he sits back and watches until Talia sends him into the shop again.

“Wolf-man!” Stiles greets him the moment Derek enters the shop, his voice coming from the checkout. “Always a bright spot in my day when you storm in here, demanding my services then leaving without a thank you or a goodbye,” he rambles, grinning when Derek nears the counter. “What can I help you with today, sunshine?”

Derek snarls at the nickname. He crosses his arms over his chest, glaring, to which Stiles rolls his eyes, sighing heavily.

“Sorry, you prefer being called a great pain in my ass, not being one?” He shrugs and Derek rolls his eyes as well, having enough of the kid’s rambling.

“I need a symbol, something like what I showed you. It has to mean something like ‘we’re friends’.”

“Oh?” Stiles’ eyebrows shoots up, and he smirks slightly. “Wolf-man, are you trying to court someone?” he says in a teasing tone, and Derek considers just ripping his throat out and doing the research himself. “Listen, girls like flowers and chocolate more than creepy symbols when they don't even know what they mean,” he stage-whispers, winking at Derek.

“If you’re going to be useless I’m leaving,” Derek states, and Stiles throws his hands up, huffing.

“Fine, give me a few days to come up with something.”

“No.” Derek shakes his head immediately. “Now.”

“Dude, I don’t know if you’re aware but I’m kind of busy here.” Stiles makes a wide gesture at the inside of the shop.

“I’m the only customer in here.”

“So not the point!” Stiles exclaims, gaping.

“I’m not leaving here without a symbol.”

“I’m not leaving here without a replacement,” Stiles replies. “See, buddy, this is our problem.” He leans down, supporting himself on his elbows. “We’re both very hard headed about what we want and what we can’t lose. Which is bad news for you, because I’m in the right here, I have a contract and everything which states I am not obligated to serve you if I think your request is not suitable for the purpose of the shop. And I have a boss who will sue your ass if I shed a tear.”

“I need that symbol, now.” Derek decides to ignore him, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

 “Uh, fine!” Stiles exclaims, throwing his hands up. “Go to the library, what do I care anyways. If Lydia didn’t move it, the book from last time is on the coffee table. There should be a couple more books about symbols all over the sofas. Knock yourself out. And remember, one little dog ear and you have a one-way ticket to the jail.”

“Great,” Derek huffs, turning and walking towards the stairs. He ignores Stiles’ shouts to have fun. He hates research, that’s why they have Deaton.

Derek storms up the narrow stairs, frowning when he sees the condition the library is in. There are books all over the sofas and coffee table, open to various places, post-it notes stuck to them, with what Derek assumes is Stiles’ handwriting.

He sits in the only armchair that’s free, pulling the closest book in front of himself. He reads the post-it on the page.

“Renewal? + Death! = Reincarnation”

He sighs, not looking forward figuring out which symbol means what exactly. He starts with that book, working his way through the ones on the coffee table. He hasn’t been there for more than two hours when he hears laughter from downstairs, then Lydia’s and Stiles’ voices talking. He can only make out what they are saying when he hears Stiles moving closer to the stairs.

“Anyways, you got downstairs?”

“Sure,” Lydia sighs, and something heavy hits the wall. “We need a new chair,” she says.

“I told Joe. He said it was my fault so I have to buy a new one. I looked it up, these chairs are fucking expensive, so I started a campaign.” Metal hits glass and coins clink together inside, probably a can.

“’Help raising money for a new chair; big thanks: Pretty Girl and Cute Guy cashiers’? Stiles,” Lydia says like just seeing it pains her, and Derek can relate. He doesn’t wish to see that label.

“Hey, I’m living the broke uni student stereotype, I’m so not above begging,” Stiles exclaims.

“And for a moment I thought you had more class.”

“We’re not in LA, I don’t need class in my hometown,” Stiles says with a smile in his voice.

“Stop reminding me how much I miss civilization and go, help your wolf researching. He’s probably asleep by now.”

“Yes, sir!” Stiles sounds chipper, then his footsteps get closer to the stairs.

Derek quickly looks down to the book he has open in front of him, pretending to be reading. Stiles appears a few seconds later, humming something tunelessly, not saying anything as he gets closer. He looks over Derek’s shoulder at the book he’s reading, and hums approvingly.

“Anything so far?” he asks, moving to the sofa next to the armchair, picking up the books that cover it, putting them aside so he can sit down.

“No.”

“Bummer,” Stiles says, reaching for a book to his left, throwing his feet up on a clear spot on the coffee table, slumping down and hiding behind the book. His feet are bouncing, distracting Derek while Stiles reads. After a few minutes he gets fed up with the movement, which is driving him insane, and Derek reaches out, grabbing the guy’s ankle.

“What!” Stiles squeaks, voice coming out high and thin, almost girly as he flinches away, looking up at Derek with wide eyes.

“Stop that. It’s annoying.”

“Dude, you could’ve just said that!” Stiles exclaims. “Stop grabbing me,” he says grumpily, then pushes the book off his lap, and standing.

Derek looks over his shoulder, following Stiles’ form with his eyes as he goes to a door Derek didn’t notice before. As Stiles opens it, it reveals a small storage room, shelves packed with different kind of snacks and sodas. Stiles pulls a bag of chips and two cans of soda from the shelf, then he closes the door and bringing the food over to the table.

“Here, hydration is important.” He puts a can in front of Derek, taking his seat and opening his, drinking some then putting it on the table before he pulls his abandoned book back in his lap. Derek looks at the soda Stiles brought, and frowns, pushing it away.

Stiles is bouncing his leg again, this time on the floor where Derek can’t reach it, book in his lap as he leans above it. Derek tries to concentrate, he really does, but Stiles is just so distracting, it’s driving him crazy. They’ve read through some more books, and he’s about to tell Stiles to stop, when Stiles suddenly jerks, letting out a sound of victory, looking up.

“Found it!” He grins at Derek, turning the book and pushing it on top of Derek’s. He points at a symbol on the page. “Means friend, ally, someone with good intentions. Good enough?” he asks, worrying his lower lip, eyebrows raised.

“We’ll see.” Derek pulls out his phone, taking a picture of the symbol with the description, sending it to Deaton to check. The answer comes sooner than Derek expected:

 _“Looks good,”_ Deaton answers, and Derek nods.

“Good.” Derek stands, replacing his phone in his pocket, heading towards the stairs.

“Woah, dude,” Stiles says, standing as well and following him. Derek stops, looking back at him. “I just spent…” he pulls out his own phone, turning on the screen for a moment, “an hour helping you, I don’t even get a thanks?”

“Thanks,” Derek says sarcastically, making a face.

“Okay, no, you know what, you have to pay for using the library, fifty bucks into the can on the counter. And don’t cheat, I can see you on the cameras,” he points behind himself. There isn’t even a monitor. Derek rolls his eyes.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Stiles grins. “See you later, wolf-man!” he says and then turns, walking back towards the books. Derek huffs, heading down the stairs, going around to the checkout, frowning at the can. It still has the original label on: Beans. Stiles’ poor attempt at a money jar was to tape brown wrapping paper with his own text on it.

Lydia doesn’t even look up when he drops twenty into the can. “Have a nice day,” she mutters as Derek leaves the register.

——

 The other pack doesn’t react well to their attempt of peace-making. They leave another body by the tree Talia carved the friendly symbol in, painting over it with blood.

After that, the pack is on even higher alert than before. Laura manages to track down two members of the pack, but Talia wants to know what they’re planning before confronting them about the situation. The pack take turns following the two of them, updating Talia when they see fit.

It’s Derek’s turn when they go to a place way too familiar to Derek, arriving in his usual parking spot on the street opposite the LARP shop. Derek sends a quick text to Talia, letting her know where they went.

 _“Ask in the shop what they wanted, maybe your friend there will tell you,”_ Talia texts back in reply, and Derek sighs, rolling his eyes. He watches as the two leave the shop, getting into their car with bags in their hands.

 _“Not my friend. Went south from here.”_ He sends the text then gets out of the car, walking up to the shop.

He pushes open the door, walking in and scenting the place. It smells like always, the other pack didn’t leave any trace behind, so he heads to the register, hoping Stiles is working, not Lydia. It’s Stiles at the checkout though, doing a crossword puzzle, looking up when Derek approaches, a smile spreading on his face.

“Wolf-man! What can I do for you today?”

“What did they want?” Derek asks, crossing his arms over his chest, gesturing towards the door with his chin.

“Pardon me?” Stiles blinks, confusion taking over his expression.

“The two who were in here just now. The tall, dark haired woman and the blonde guy. What did they want?”

“Um, okay, wolf-man, you know I’m very generous when it comes to serving you but this information I cannot share with you unfortunately. Friends of yours?” He points in the same direction with his pen, curious.

“Not at all.”

“Oh. Well, still I can’t tell, sorry,” he shrugs, tapping his pen on the glass display. They stare at each other for a while until Stiles breaks the silence. “Okay, who were they?” he asks like Derek’s being difficult.

“Just tell me what they came for.”

“Why?” Stiles asks.

“None of your business.”

“This-- _this_ ,” Stiles points around the shop with both hands, flailing, “ _this_ is all my business.” He points at his own chest. “Employee,” he says, then points at Derek, “noisy werewolf or… whatever,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek clenches his teeth, hoping to find something to kill Stiles with.

He then pulls out his phone with a sigh, quickly texting his mom that Stiles isn’t cooperating. Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, to which Derek narrows his eyes.

“ _Get him to tell you. No matter the prize. We need to know what they plan_ ,” Talia replies, and Derek sighs, pulling out his wallet, then a hundred dollars. He looks up at Stiles from under his eyelashes, sizing up Stiles before he steps closer to the counter. He puts the bank note down, sliding it over in front of Stiles, who frowns down at it.

“What is this? Are you trying to bribe me into telling you?” He looks up at Derek in disbelief and with a small amount of amusement. Derek doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows, pointedly looking down at the money. “No, man, that’s not gonna work at all.” Stiles shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not? You need the money for the chair,” Derek teases, pointing at the can on the counter. Stiles snorts, pushing the money back.

“If you want to donate, do that, but you’re not bribing me into telling you what they wanted. You need a better deal for that.” He smirks, eyes lighting up with a new idea.

“What do you want?” Derek sighs, rolling his eyes and taking the money, slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

“You. At a roleplay party.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Dude, come on,” Stiles whines, throwing his hands up. “Just once, come to one party and I’m yours,” he says, expression desperate. He closes his eyes and furrows his brows a moment later, looking up at Derek with cheeks reddening. “That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”

“I’m not going.”

“Please?” Stiles tries. “Look, the first time we met you told me you’re a werewolf. If you wouldn’t be into it you wouldn’t come here, so humor me just this once, and let me see you in your element.” Stiles asks, tone begging as he shifts from foot to foot.

“Never,” Derek hisses, clenching his teeth. Stiles sighs, defeated, letting his head fall back, then looking at Derek.

“Well, that’s my deal, wolf-man. If you wanna know the answer, you need to come.”

“I’ll come back,” Derek states, turning and leaving, when Stiles shouts after him:

“To the play-party, I hope!” Derek scowls, not bothering to look back.

——

Derek is sitting in his car, fuming about being bullied into going to roleplaying, watching people go into the shop with smiles on their faces. It takes a while until he gathers the mental strength to get out and get into the shop, counting the pros and cons of just threatening Stiles into telling him what he wants to know.

He enters the shop, frowning. There’s too many people. Lydia is not behind the checkout, instead she’s adjusting some clothes opposite the entrance. She looks up, raising her eyebrows when Derek enters. She doesn’t comment, though, just shrugs and goes back to work.

Derek takes a deep breath as he heads up the stairs, trying not to snap and choke Stiles as soon as he sees him. He arrives at the library, looking around at the people gathered. It was certainly a bigger group last time.

“Alright guys, that’s how many of us are going to be here today,” Derek hears Stiles’ voice from near the coffee table. Everybody turns, heading to their seats. The only one remaining standing is Derek, arms crossed over his chest. “Wolf-man! You actually came!” Stiles beams at him, walks up to Derek and tugs him towards the coffee table by the arm. Derek scowls at his hand as well as the people watching them.

“Guys, this is Derek, wolf-man, these are the guys.” He gestures at them, to which some of them greet him, others just wave. “Alright, character sheet?” Stiles asks, holding out his hand at Derek, expecting something. Derek frowns. “You didn’t bring it?”

“Bring what?”

“Your character sheet.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Jesus,” Stiles buries his face in his hands, turning and shouting downstairs, which makes Derek flinch away. “Lyds, do you have a moment?”

“No!”

“Fine,” Stiles mutters, turning back to Derek. “Sit. I’ll be back in a moment.” He sighs, heading towards the stairs.

“This is your first time here?” asks an older guy, smiling at Derek like he’s a kid. Derek crosses his arms again, setting his jaw. “It’s okay, we’ve all been there.” The man shrugs, gesturing to the seat opposite him. “Sit, read through our characters,” he encourages, but Derek doesn’t move.

“Okay, here’s one.” Stiles appears again, waving a sheet of paper in his hand. He looks at Derek, confused, then points at the seat the guy pointed at. “Are you going to stand the whole time, wolf-man?” he asks, passing by Derek and sitting down.

Derek moves reluctantly, squeezing in between Stiles and another young dude, who has blonde, curly hair and strong facial structure. Derek feels awfully out of place. The paper is placed in front of him along with a pen.

“Get to it, I’ll figure out what to do with you until then. So, he’s a werewolf, if he goes with what he went with so far,” Stiles tells the others, and the curly haired boy looks at him with raised eyebrows. Derek squints at him, discreetly scenting the air, frowning when he catches the subtle aroma of ‘ _wolf_.

“Cool, man,” the stranger ‘wolf says, smiling at Derek faintly, shifting away a little.

“Yeah, wolf-man, Isaac is a werewolf as well. Though, he’s not as good at it as you are,” Stiles rambles, shuffling papers around in front of him.

“I didn’t know you can be bad at being one,” Derek snorts, to which Stiles gasps.

“It jokes!” he exclaims, flailing and hitting Derek in the side.

“I didn’t know there were more than me in the town,” Isaac says, eyeing Derek up and down.

“Dude, I’ve been telling you that since wolf-man showed up in the shop,” Stiles deadpans, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t know what you mean at first,” Isaac says, eyes still on Derek. He will need to talk to the kid when this nightmare is over.

“Sure. Hey, could you fill this in by like yesterday, dude?” Stiles asks, tapping on the paper in front of Derek, who frowns at it.

“I don’t know what to do with this.”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, dude,” Stiles says, pointing at the top of the paper. “Name, class, level, race, et cetera.”

“I don’t know what half of this means,” Derek snarls at Stiles, who sighs and pulls out a sheet of paper from the pile in front of him.

“Does this help?” he asks, putting it in front of Derek. He looks down at it, still confused. It’s the same form, filled out.

“I don’t get it.”

“You sure you don’t want to come back next time a little more prepared?” a woman asks, sitting opposite Derek, flicking dirt from under her nails. Derek glares.

“No, it’s cool, you know what,” Stiles sighs, taking both papers from Derek. “Let’s play an adventure to show him what this is all about, then we will see if we have time for another one. Here,” he says, handing out the papers, setting up a cardboard divider in front of him, hiding his papers from the other players.

“Let’s do this,” Stiles rubs his hands together, clearing his throat:

“There’s a world, parallel to ours, where magic is in all of us. In _Thomberien_ you can find any and all creatures you can think of: Mages, Elves, Werewolves, Fairies, Goblins and whatnot. However, a dark force took over _Thomberien’s_ greatest empire, _Valien_ , Empire of Fire. _Evil_ , Queen Madeline’s brother took it over, in a war, which _Thomberien’s_ people just know as the War of _Valien_.

“In today’s quest, some of your allies stay behind to take care of Zeke, who has been injured during his fight with _Evil’s_ Water Mage. You find a mysterious mirror in Kaliope’s wardrobe, and as you touch it, it takes you to another world. In this world, magic is punished by death, and they prison Sawyer, your ally, former guard of the Queen and Fire Mage. Your job is to free him, and return to _Thomberien_.”

They start to play, talking like they really are there, and Derek listens, fascinated. They seem to get completely lost in the game, pretending to be someone else. Someone more powerful. Except Isaac, who seems to be the weakest member.

“The guard cuts you on your side with his silver blade, you take 8 damage points,” Stiles tells Isaac, smugly.

“Yeah but I'm a werewolf, so I only take half the damage on slicing weapons.” Isaac grins, leaning back. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“No, because it's silver, you can't heal it.” Stiles states and Derek frowns.

 “That’s bullshit,” he says, shaking his head. Stiles looks at him, surprised.

“Sorry?” Stiles blinks. Derek looks at Isaac, who seems just as lost. He rolls his eyes.

“Silver doesn’t hurt us. Wolfsbane does.”

“Well, in this world silver hurts werewolves,” says one of the players, huffing. Derek squints at him, running his tongue over his teeth.

“You got it wrong. You don't know what you're talking about," Derek states.

“Says the guy who have never played before. We have rules. Your character might not get hurt by silver, but Isaac’s does. You can’t just barge in and tell us how to play,” the guy says, narrowing his eyes at Derek.

“Stop spreading lies about werewolves and I won’t,” Derek rolls his eyes, then he leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“As if werewolves are real,” mutters the guy.

“Woah, hey, we're all friends here,” Stiles raises his hands, palms facing out. “Let’s not upset each other. Maybe ask Isaac what he wants to do, and vote if we accept the change?” Stiles squirms in place, looking uncomfortable.

“Fine,” the player huffs.

“Isaac, what do you think?” Stiles turns to Isaac, questioning.

“I’m fine with wolfsbane,” he nods.

“Guys?” Stiles looks around, and except two people, everyone raises their hands. “Okay, most of us are fine with it. Let’s just go with this now, and when the whole group is here, we will have an ‘all or nothing’ vote. Just-- be kind to Derek for now, he’s new to this, alright?” Stiles pleads, and the two who disagreed shrug, not objecting for now.

 “Okay, um, so, Sarlic, the guard cuts you with his blade that is soaked in wolfsbane, so you cannot heal,” Stiles says, shaking his head then writing something on his paper. The game continues, and Derek tries to keep his future comments to himself. The others don’t seem to appreciate them as much as Isaac does. At the end of the game, Stiles says numbers, calling everyone out individually, which means nothing to Derek, but seems to please the players.

“Well, congratulations, Gregor, you saved Sawyer, and Ramona, you led them back to _Thomberien_. Sarlic and Oscar are injured. Sarlic needs two days to heal, and Oscar needs a week--“

“You can’t just heal from wolfsbane poisoning,” Derek snarls. Oscar, or whatever his real name is, throws his hands up, dropping his head back against the backrest of the sofa he sits on.

“I die?!” Isaac squeaks, looking up worriedly at Derek.

“Eventually. You need to find the species of wolfsbane that injured you, burn it and rub it into the wound. If you can’t do that, you need to burn the wound and hope it heals; if you’re not fast enough, the poison spreads in your system and its useless; you die.”

“Wanna join for that quest, wolf-man?” Stiles asks, eyes shining with amusement. Derek grunts, frowning.

“Rather than have you getting everything wrong,” he states. Stiles claps, grinning and pulling out the blank sheet again, before eying Derek up, humming.

“Okay, a little change in the rules: we'll teach Derek how to play properly for next time, if he's coming. Now, do we allow him to play without being personalized?” Stiles looks around to the others, who don’t seem too fond of the idea. “We only have around an hour left to play, and I think if I start explaining it to him we won't be done in time.”

“Can he just fill in for an NPC to get a little feel for it, but he's not part of the team yet?” One of the women asks, Jolie, maybe.

“Everyone is fine with that?” Stiles asks, and they all nod. “Great. Chose a name, wolf-man.” Stiles looks at him patiently, and Derek scowls.

“Derek’s fine.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Stiles mutters, writing something down, then clapping his hands again, looking around. “Welcome back to Kaliope’s cabin! When you get back, you run into a new guest, who Kaliope called to help with your campaign, Derek. Derek tells you what you need to do to heal Sarlic, and you decide to help your friend. Derek accompanies you on the way, because he knows what to look for.

“Your quest is to find the cure in twenty-four hours, or Sarlic dies.”

They start playing, Derek barely takes part in it, except the few times Stiles includes him in a fight. At one point, Isaac leans closer to him, muttering so quietly that only a werewolf could make out his words:

“Control your character or Stiles does whatever he wants with him.”

“A guard notices you sneaking in and moves to ring the alarm. Derek stands in his way, then--“ Stiles starts, but Derek jumps in.

“But then I move and slash his throat,” he says, and the group falls silent, Stiles gaping at him. Derek smiles at him, mocking.

“He can’t do that,” objects Oscar, the guy who protested the last time Derek tried to correct them as well. Stiles just shrugs.

“Why don’t we see if he can?” Stiles passes a dice to Derek. “Roll,” he commands. Derek frowns at the dice, but picks it up, throwing. “Seems like he can do it,” Stiles grins, gesturing to the dice smugly. Oscar rolls his eyes.

The game continues, Derek occasionally killing a guard or two, and with his help, they get back in time to save Isaac. Somehow, it feels good, being the hero for once, and everybody thanks him for his inputs at the end of the quest. Sure, he didn’t go and save Oscar, so now the guy is missing a finger, but he ignores his whining when Stiles calls it a day, telling people their points. It still doesn’t make sense to Derek, just like just like how the dice work, but he’s not interested enough to figure it out.

“Good job, everybody, your quests were successful. Let’s hope that Zeke heals soon and we can continue the campaign with all of us.” Stiles says as a closure of the story, fist bumping a few people who stand quickly and leave. “As always, stay a bit, look around and buy stuff if you’d like,” he says as he stands up.

They pack up the table, everybody taking their sheets with them, and they go down to the shop.

“Hey, can we talk?” Derek hears Isaac approaching him as he gets ready to leave as well. He looks over at the guy, who seems nervous, cracking his fingers and not looking into Derek’s eyes.

“How long have you been a ‘wolf?” Derek asks, turning and crossing his arms.

“Not too long. One bit me in the woods six months ago.”

“A rogue alpha.” Derek nods, remembering how annoying it was to deal with it. It was the same one that bit Scott. “And you’ve been alone since?”

“It’s not like I can post on Facebook: ‘Hey, friends, who else is werewolf? Wanna chat about full moons?’.” Isaac rolls his eyes, and Derek sighs.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Going home. Why?” He seems cautious, taking a step back, but Derek’s having none of it.

“Do you have a car?” When Isaac shakes his head, Derek reaches into his pocket, handing over his keys. “Black Camaro, across the street. Wait for me in the car, I have a deal with Stiles, then we go home. Talia will explain everything to you.”

“Who’s Talia?” the guy asks, eyes wide and somewhat scared.

“My mom, and my alpha. You’ll understand it better once you talk to her. Now go.” Isaac nods, turning and rushing down the stairs. Derek sighs, shaking his head and turning to find Stiles blinking at him in confusion.

“Uh, dude, is this like a cult? Because then please, leave Isaac out of it. He has it bad as it is already, no need to manipulate him into some brainwashing maniacs’ group.”

“It’s not a cult, Stiles.” Derek raises his eyes to the sky. “We are wolves. Wolves need pack.”

“And that doesn’t sound like a cult to you? Are you sure?” Stiles cocks a skeptical eyebrow.

“Let’s say social group. Is that better for you? Do you hang out with the prom king and queen, or do you prefer your comic book loving friends? It’s the same, we just belong to another species, instead of having similar interests.” Derek tries to explain the best he can, not really caring how insane it must sound.

“Actually, Lydia was the prom queen, so yeah, I do hang out with them. Dude, I don’t get you at all,” Stiles says, throwing his hands up as he steps past the sofas so he can pace in front of Derek. “You talk about being a werewolf like it’s real, which, I get if you’re in that deep, but lately, Scott talks like that too. I know I’m missing something, but it’s insane. You can’t actually be a werewolf.” He laughs nervously at Derek.

Derek raises his eyebrows, comparing the pros and cons of telling Stiles, but decides against it. The kid looks like someone who can’t keep a secret if he gets into one of his mindless ramblings, and it’s safer for all of them.

“Do you believe in ghosts too?” He settles for as an answer, and Stiles groans, throwing his hands up.

“Fine! Okay, call me an idiot, whatever. Why are you still here? You’re supposed to fuck off once you have no reason to stay here anymore.”

“We had a deal,” he says, stepping up to Stiles. “I came. It’s your turn.”

“Dude,” Stiles croaks, swallowing as he takes a step back from Derek, cheeks pinking. Derek rolls his eyes. He didn’t mean like _that_.

“Just tell me what they wanted.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re no fun,” Stiles says, going around Derek to the table, pulling out a scrap of paper. “They bought this, asked about life in Beacon Hills, about the criminal statistics, which is, hey, did you know it’s much higher than any similar sized towns on the west coast? We either have very shitty people living here, or Beacon Hills is a criminal beacon. You get it, because--“

“I’m leaving,” Derek states, snatching the paper out of Stiles’ hand and heading back towards the stairs.

“You’re an asshole, wolf-man!” Stiles shouts after him, but doesn’t follow. Derek doesn’t look at the others in the shop as he leaves.

——

 People say Derek doesn’t talk much, well, they just don’t get the meaning behind his words. See: Derek hates shopping. Derek hates a lot of things, but shopping is on the top of his list. And that says a lot about Derek’s personality, his family members’ personalities and the type of shopping they do. How that is not much said?

Shopping with his sisters is even worse, and he’s willing to go into the LARP shop to avoid it. That’s how much he hates shopping. Of course, his sisters don’t believe him when he says he suddenly has to get something from the shop, so they follow him to make sure he goes there, there’s really no escape.

When he opens the door, there are more people than he had expected. A couple of them browsing the displays, others at the register, waiting for their turn, chatting with each other. Derek wants to leave immediately. He can still see his sisters on the other side of the street.

“Is that all?” he hears Stiles’ delighted voice, and he turns, heading to the checkout, where Lydia and Stiles are both working, hands full as they pass the scanner, plastic bags and fliers to each other.

“Hmm, do you have anything against curses? A small spell, like, white magic, could come handy,” the guy Stiles is serving says, grinning at Stiles from behind his too long hair.

“Sure, um,” Stiles looks out from behind the customer, raising his eyebrows when he spots Derek, a wide grin spreading over his face. “Let me check for you,” he says, turning back to the customer, gesturing something to Lydia then leaving the checkout, heading towards Derek. He crosses his arms over his chest, not pleased he has Stiles’ attention like this. It's not like he cares about their customers, but Stiles should do his job.

“Wolf-man, how are you feeling today?” Stiles cocks an eyebrow and he doesn’t stop, goes around Derek for something behind him. Derek frowns, not bothering to turn to him.

“Like I want to leave.”

“Well, you, unlike me, can do that,” Stiles laughs, bumping into his shoulder on his way back, hissing from the impact. “Jesus, do you do anything else than working out?” he mutters under his breath, reentering behind the counter and smiling at the customer. “Here you go. Anything else I can do for you?” The customer declines, paying then stepping away to show one of his friends what he got. Stiles turns to Lydia quickly, mouth open to say something, but Lydia beats him.

“Just go.” She waves him away, not looking up from scanning the items. Stiles grins at her, quickly leaving the counter and once again going up to Derek.

“You have like five minutes before Lydia kills the both of us,” he says, holding out his hand, palm up like he expects something from Derek. He frowns at the hand.

“What do you want?” he asks, confused, before looking up at Stiles’ face.

“The notebook?” The guy’s eyebrows shot up. “Or did Deaton have an order?” His brows furrow now, trying to remember.

“No. I needed to escape from my sisters.”

“Oh, um, oh?” Stiles seems even more concerned. “You-- okay, why here?” He seems to settle on this question, out of the presumably dozens he has going around in his head.

“This is the closest place to the strip mall I would have business at.”

“Wow, that’s so…” Stiles trails off for a moment, looking for the right word, but Lydia cuts in, apparently listening in to their conversation.

“Boring? Cliché? Disappointing?”

“Mundane,” Stiles decides, not missing a beat. Lydia clicks her tongue, turning her attention back to the line. “So, then, no order?” Stiles asks after a moment, shaking himself, looking back to the checkout.

“No.”

“Alright, okay, then… uh, look around I guess?” Stiles shrugs, taking a step back. “Or just, go to a coffee shop, to pass the time, I have no idea why you actually came in, I mean--“ he trails off, looking back at the queue again, frowning.

“I need something,” Derek states, jaw twitching as he looks around. He needs to take something back with him, or his sisters will know he didn’t have any business here. Not like they believe him as it is, but it’s nice to keep up the illusion.

“You just said being here is just an excuse,” Stiles furrows his brow, Derek rolling his eyes.

“If I don’t buy anything, they’ll know it’s just an excuse.”

“Oh. Smart. Anything specific you’d like?” Stiles blinks, taking a look around as well, as if wondering what Derek would possibly want from here that is not for Deaton.

“No.”

“You know, it’s much easier when you use other words than ‘no’.” Stiles sighs, irritated. He then brightens as something seems to pop into his mind. “Oh, I know! Stay here and…” He waves two hands at Derek, shrugging at his frown then disappearing in the back.

Derek stays, though he considers moving just to mess with Stiles, but the shop really is busy now.

“You’re coming this weekend too?” someone asks next to him, and Derek looks over, seeing a woman around her 30s looking at him with a gentle smile. Derek frowns. “To the event? Here.” She shifts some items in her hand, pulling out a flier from under a dress, handing it over to Derek. He takes it reluctantly, looking at the text on it.

_“LARP weekend at the preserve - fantasy roleplay with the Thuvine & Elvia group.”_

“No.” Derek answers, handing back the flier but the woman shakes her head, smiling.

“Keep it, you might change your mind.” She nods, turning to line up. Derek sighs, crumpling up the paper and stuffing it inside his rear pocket.

“Got it!” Stiles appears suddenly, waving a little square box in his hand. It’s different than the usual ones Derek takes from the shop. For one, it’s tiny, like a box for a ring, and it’s wrapped in brown paper with little wolves drawn all over it. “You take it and tell your sisters you needed to get it. All covered.” Stiles grins, to which Derek narrows his eyes.

“What is this?” He takes the box when Stiles pushes it to his chest, examining it.

“It’s a gift, so you don’t even have to pay for it. You’re not allowed to open it until you’re alone, but it’s enough to get your sisters off your back,” Stiles says smugly, crossing his arms. “See, I’m a great friend,” he states, smirking.

“We’re not friends,” Derek states, frowning at the box.

“Rude.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Just take it, it didn’t cost me anything. Now, go because I have work and you’re distracting.”

“I’m not distracting.” He looks up, offended.

“You clearly are, since Stiles is over there, chatting you up and not here, doing his job,” Lydia says. Derek huffs, rolling his eyes, but obeys, because he doesn’t want to deal with them anymore. He will wait for his sisters in the car.

“Hope you like it!” Stiles shouts at his back as he leaves the shop. He doesn’t react.

He’s sitting in the car, changing the stations when he decides to look at the gift now. If he hates it, he’ll just give it to someone else as a gift. The wrapping paper comes off easily, and he opens the lid of the small container, brows furrowing as he sees the handwritten note.

‘Don’t be such a sour wolf, wolf-man - S’

Beneath the note is a stone, its colors shifting from royal blue to red to amber, swirling around inside like badly mixed paint. It’s claw shaped, with a very thin and long chain attached. It’s beautiful, Derek has to admit, the colors reminding him of the eye colors of werewolves. He doesn’t know how Stiles picked a stone that shows the exact same shades, and he briefly wonders if Scott lied and the boy truly knows about ‘wolves.

There’s a card underneath the necklace, which he picks up to read; it’s a printed paper with a web address on the back, small text on the front. It reads:

_‘Pietersite - Protection from elements, calming, caring.’_

He sighs, putting the necklace back inside its box, closing it and sliding it into his pocket. He will give it to Talia, she will love it for sure. Or he will keep it, just to see Stiles’ shocked face when he sees Derek wear it.

——

Derek only shows up in the shop again the week after the LARP event. It’s late and for the first time ever, Derek doesn’t come here with a purpose. He just had enough of his family and looked for a hiding place, just finding himself parked on the street opposite the shop.

He stares out the window, debating if he should go in or not, finally opening the car door and walking over the street before he can change his mind.

There’s only one heartbeat inside, even but a little fast, coming from the checkout. Derek heads there, spotting Stiles behind the counter, copying something from the computer to a paper.

“Hi, just a moment and I’ll be with you,” Stiles mumbles, concentrating on whatever he’s writing. His brows furrow as he squints, shaking his head then dropping his pen, sighing and looking up with a forced smile. It melts from his face when he sees Derek. “Wolf-man, everything alright?” he asks, looking around.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Derek raises his eyebrows.

“You usually come in when it’s either an emergency or Deaton gets an order. Deaton didn’t order anything, so I assume it’s another emergency,” he shrugs. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Derek sighs, rolling his eyes. “It was a bad idea,” he says, turning to leave.

“Wait!” Stiles says quickly, straightening. Derek stops, looking back at him. “Sorry, it’s just really late, I didn’t mean to be rude. Seriously, what can I help you with? For once, I actually do have time to help you out.” He smiles softly, shifting on his feet.

“I just came here to pass time,” Derek explains.

“Oh. Well, you could pass time by helping me with the stock-taking.” Stiles smirks, waving the paper he was writing previously. Derek takes a deep breath, eyeing the paper suspiciously before exhaling.

“Fine. What do you want me to do?” Derek cocks an eyebrow, to which Stiles’ eyes widen.

“Uh, wait, you actually would help me?” he asks, complete confusion and shock taking over his expression.

“I just said that.” Derek rolls his eyes, stepping closer.

“Oh, that’s-- Thanks, awesome, yeah, that would be great actually. We’re out of ink for the printer so I can’t record the numbers officially straight away. I’d either have to copy the whole list by hand or run back to the computer every time I count something to put it in the system. Uh, okay, do you want to count or read the list?” He gestures to the computer screen, running a hand through his hair. When Derek just shrugs, he nods, clicking something on the computer.

“Okay, you count. You look like a very precise guy, the boss will be shocked that my inventory is accurate for once.” Stiles grins, pulling out something from the desk. “This is the list.” He hands it to Derek. It’s a laminated booklet with photos of the items, with their serial numbers and names next to the pictures. “We will go from top to bottom, if it’s really in order. Okay, ready?”

“Ready?” Derek asks with eyebrows raised and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Fine, asshole. First items are the shirts over here,” he points to the left of the checkout with his pen, “ _Thomberien_ shirts, blue, red, green, then yellow.”

“Seven blue,” Derek says as he counts and hears Stiles typing on his computer. “Ten red. Three green. Five yellow.”

“Awesome, _Thomberien_ hats, baseball hats first, bucket hats next.”

They go through the majority of the shop quickly, mainly because the first set of items are clothes and costumes. At weapons, Stiles needs to give him directions sometimes, then they move to armors, board games, and at the end to jewelry and other small items. Derek frowns as he returns to the checkout, done with the counting.

“What about the displays?” he asks, gesturing to the counter with his chin.

“Oh, those are alarmed and always locked. Nobody can take any of it without us knowing about it. Same with specific merchandise, we have those in here.” Stiles points behind himself with his thumb as he types in the computer. “One more thing, would you mind counting this while I go to the back and check the deliveries?” He takes a hook from under the counter with the bags on it, raising his eyebrows at Derek, who shrugs. “Thanks.” Stiles smiles, turning and leaving the checkout.

Derek counts the bags, trying not to rip any of them while Stiles is doing some lifting in the back of the shop, sometimes groaning at something. He returns before Derek finishes, clicking away on the computer, typing something, and then turning to Derek, waiting patiently.

“Sixty-five,” Derek says, pushing the bags back to Stiles, who types it in the computer.

“Wow, this went so much faster than when I usually do it,” he says, looking at the clock on the computer. “Thanks, wolf-man, you saved my evening.” He closes the windows on the screen, turning the computer off and putting the bags back in their place. “I’m actually closing in half an hour, but nobody comes in this time around, so I don’t have to be here. Fancy a party upstairs?” he asks, pointing at the ceiling. “I could maybe explain how tabletop RPG works, since you don’t seem to be familiar with it.” Stiles taps a finger on the counter.

“Isaac made me one of those sheets,” Derek says, crossing his arms.

“Which is awesome, you’re a step closer, but I have a feeling you don’t get any of what is on the sheet. Come on, once I explain some of that, you’ll get the game more,” Stiles says, not waiting for an answer as he exits the cabin, turning the sign on the door as he passes, heading upstairs. Derek follows him, frowning.

Stiles moves to the coffee table, pulling out his cardboard from under one of the sofas, setting it on the table. He folds it out, quickly turning the papers that are inside upside down. He looks through them so Derek doesn’t see as he settles next to Stiles on the sofa, feeling weird being here alone.

“Here you go.” Stiles puts a blank character sheet and a pen in front of him, pushing his papers away, scooting over so both of them can see the sheet. “This is a very simple version of the basic character sheets, I use this so new players don’t have to spend ages filling it if they chose to fill it in here.

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, here comes your character’s name, yours, the date… The campaign name depends on what you play. We have our own campaign here, which you played as well, Thomberien, don’t ask which came first, the shop or the game.” Stiles chuckles, moving his finger and pointing at the slots.

“Fill it in now, so if you want to create a new character, Isaac doesn’t have to do it for you. Though, people like to stick to one character and improve that, but we’re playing fantasy RPG, if you want to play something out that genre, you may need a new one.” Stiles pauses, pushing the pen closer to Derek, who picks it up reluctantly.

He fills in those Stiles told him so far. They go through the sheet like that, Stiles sometimes just dismissing slots, claiming they don’t matter for a newbie yet, or that they’re too complicated than Stiles can explain this late. Derek finds himself thinking about it, what other kind of character he could be, if he could lose himself in this the same the others do.

He also thinks about Isaac. At one point, Stiles makes an offhand comment how Isaac wanted to experience a werewolf RPG, and how much time he spent researching it. It makes Derek wonder if this was the way Isaac wanted to learn about his new species, and just why the boy thought it was accurate at all.

They finish not soon after, Stiles grinning at him proudly, like a teacher who just managed to get his student to like math.

“So, why didn’t you come to LARP-ing? I thought it was your thing,” Stiles asks as he puts his cardboard away.

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” Derek states, standing.

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t play,” he starts, the rest of what he wants to say lost in a yawn. “It’s hard to believe when every chance you get you remind me that you’re a werewolf. But I get it.” Stiles shrugs, leading Derek to the stairs, gesturing him to go ahead.

“You do?” Derek asks skeptically.

“Yeah. Some people just don’t like to practice it in big crowds. I totally get it, I assume you have your own play group and wouldn’t feel comfortable playing with others. Some people do that.” They arrive back to the shop, and Stiles stops in front of the door. “Well, this was fun, wolf-man. Go, get some sleep, I’ll do that too,” he yawns, opening the door for Derek.

“Good night.” Derek nods, turning to leave.

“He’s got manners!” Stiles exclaims to the ceiling, to which Derek just shakes his head, not looking back as he gets to his car.

——

The next time Derek goes to the shop it’s for himself. He didn’t mean to upset that witch, and now, he has to personally pick a gift for her to settle the disagreement. Because he has no idea what witches like to get as a present, he goes to the shop and decides to ask Stiles’ advice.

He doesn’t expect to arrive to the shop at Stiles and Scott discussing Stiles’ sex life.

“No, I need to have sex, Scott, an orgasm, okay? Fireworks, the Niagara, the Big Fucking Bang, like literally. I just really need to come from something other than my own two hands!”

“Stiles.”

“No, no, Scotty, alright, I know you and Pitch Perfect are having a kitten fight, but at least you didn’t have to watch Hunky Boys dot com for the last who knows how many months now.”

“Stiles!”

“And you don’t understand, my only company has been my pillow and things you don’t want to know about, I need to have sex, I cannot keep imagining De--“

“Stiles!” Scott shouts louder, pushing forward and cupping his hand over Stiles’ mouth, but Stiles quickly pulls away his hand.

“What?!” he shouts back, and Derek folds his arms over his chest, _somewhat_ amused. Only at the embarrassment Stiles is (surely) going to feel once he finally realizes Derek is in the shop. Scott glares at Derek pointedly, and a moment later Stiles seems to catch up, looking over his shoulder, then spinning around, almost falling face-first into the register, Scott stopping him at the last moment.

“Wolf-man!” Stiles grins, shifting from foot to foot. “Is it my birthday already?” he asks, leaning on the glass display, his elbow catching on the edge, hissing in pain. Derek only raises his eyebrows. “Well, if it is, then I’m looking at my present right now,” he says with a crooked smirk, raising his own eyebrows, raking his gaze up and down Derek’s figure.

Stiles’ eyes stop and stay glued on his chest, heartbeat kicking up before he snaps his eyes up, looking into Derek's face. He gulps, straightening up quickly. He must have noticed the necklace under Derek’s shirt.

“Are you alright?” Scott asks, concerned, and Derek’s focus snaps to the other ‘wolf, staring.

“So, what can I help you with, wolf-man?” Stiles asks, waving away Scott’s question. Derek doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes on Scott, who doesn’t notice, still looking at Stiles with a lost expression. Stiles seems to get it though, and he turns to his friend. “Scott, would you go and see if I’m at Deaton’s?” he asks pointedly looking at the door, then back at Scott.

“What? You’re here,” Scott says, and Stiles groans. “Oh! Um, sure. You gonna be alright?” he asks, glancing at Derek. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“No, Scott, he’s gonna eat me alive. Yes! I’m gonna be fine, shoo,” he says, gesturing at Scott, who hesitantly obeys. Derek only turns back to Stiles when he’s gone. “So,” Stiles drawls out, pursing his lips. “What’s the matter?”

“I need something as an apology gift.”

“An apology gift,” Stiles repeats, looking at Derek like he just said the sun is black. “Uh, sure, why not, what kind of apology are we talking about?” he asks, shaking his head, schooling his expression.

“I upset a witch,” Derek says, shifting in place. He doesn’t feel as sure about this as he did when he crossed the street. “If I don’t settle this with her, she’ll kill my pack, starting with me.”

“Okay, so like an,” Stiles seems to think for a second, “amulet or something?” he asks with a puzzled look, scratching his chin.

“Or something,” is the answer.

“Or something?” Stiles repeats.

“Or something.”

“Ugh,” Stiles groans, sitting down then pulling himself up towards the computer. They still didn’t replace the chair with a new one.

Stiles is typing away on the keyboard but then he frowns, fingers hovering over it, glancing at the counter display. “I might have the perfect thing, but I’m not happy to part from it, so you need to answer to some of my questions, if you choose Dastan.”

“Dastan?” Derek’s eyebrows shot up.

“Prince of Persia?” Stiles looks at him with a searching look, almost leaning back before he remembers of the lack of backrest on the chair.

“What is it?” Derek decides to ask instead, and Stiles sighs, standing up and pointing at the gold inlaid dagger Cora was so fascinated by on the first day. Derek frowns. “I don’t think this is a good sign of showing trust,” he mentions.

“Well, you’re the only one. What do you say?” Stiles looks over at him challengingly, and after a short inner debate, Derek nods. Women like flashy, dramatic things. The dagger is going to be perfect, if Talia approves. “Awesome!” Stiles flashes a grin, and if it wasn’t for his earlier words, Derek would think he’s been trying to get rid of the knife for ages.

Stiles pulls out the dagger, running a finger over the blade before sliding it into its sheath. He pulls a box and a roll of brown wrapping paper out from under the counter. He wraps the knife into the paper, taping it down on each side, then sliding it into the box with a little card he picks up from the desk. He’s talking while he packs, but Derek is barely paying attention.

“We got it from a collection by a guy who re-creates old knives. They were mostly given as gifts, they were considered the sign of trust because it says _‘hey, I give you this dagger and I trust you not to stab me in the back_ ’. It’s a show of vulnerability, which is why it’s perfect for treaties or apologies. Traditionally, to show mutual respect and eagerness for the pact, a coin is given in return of a dagger, to ensure ties are not to be cut.

“People nowadays don’t give knives as a gift, because they believe that if the person cuts themselves with it, they’ll think about you, and that makes the relationship negative. That’s a pretty modern mentality though. In times when people killed people for offenses, if you cut yourself with the knife you got, it meant that the blade is sharp and well-made, fierce, just like your friendship with who gave it to you. In a way, it said: _‘I give you a good weapon to kill your enemies with, so be nice to me’_.”

Before he closes the box, Stiles clicks on the computer, printer going off three times. The papers get folded in half, and put into the box before Stiles closes it. He hums as he crouches down, papers ruffing as he does something with the printer, then he’s straightening up, clicking on the computer again.

“So you like my gift?” He asks as he types in something. When Derek doesn’t answer, Stiles looks up, pointedly. “You said you would answer my questions.”

“I never said that.”

“You nodded.”

“I nodded to accept your advice to get the dagger, not to your--“

“Just answer the question, damn it!”

“Yes,” Derek grunts, narrowing his eyes and tightening his arms over his chest so the stone presses into his sternum. Stiles smiles, bowing his head to hide it, then schools his expression, clearing his throat.

“And Scotty doesn’t know about you roleplaying?”

“He doesn’t know about lot of things I do, and it’s better this way,” Derek answers carefully. Stiles nods, not paying attention, getting another paper from the printer, and waving it as he turns to Derek.

“So he doesn’t know about the whole…” Stiles trails off, gesturing at Derek’s whole person.

“Scott needs to learn a lot,” Derek decides to say, waiting for the boy to finish his order impatiently. Stiles does, pulling the sticker off the paper, smoothing it onto the box, then taping the box to scan the bar he just stuck on.

“Scott learns from his mistakes,” he shrugs as he gets a plastic bag, sliding the box inside. “That would be all?” he asks, smiling mockingly at Derek. Derek hates that smile.

“Yes,” he grunts.

He pays for the item, and leaves without another word, clenching his teeth when Stiles yells after him to have a good day.

——

Derek has to go to the shop at night again, this time to find a solution to a new problem. The last few days the forest has gone unusually quiet, all animals silent. Isaac and Cora found some strange goo on one of their patrols, which made them believe that was the cause of the silence, but they can’t figure out what it is. Deaton has no idea where to even start researching; so the next person they turn to is Stiles, since he is the second most resourceful person they know.

Derek arrives to the shop an hour or two before closing time, hoping to catch Stiles at a good time like last time.

“Have a nice evening,” Stiles smiles at a customer as Derek enters and walks up to the checkout, handing the guy a bag with clothes in it. “Wolf-man, hey,” Stiles greets him as the customer passes Derek, bell ringing as he exits. “What can I do for you?”

“What could cause animals to go quiet and this,” Derek pulls out a test tube from his pocket, filled with the goo. Stiles furrows his brows, frowning at it and taking from Derek. He holds it horizontally, shaking it carefully, tilting his head to the side.

“Dude, whoever organizes your LARP events, they’re freaking awesome at the stuff,” he shakes his head. “No wonder you buy rare items, you really work with quality things. About the animals…” Stiles hums, pressing his lips together, getting lost in his thoughts for a moment. “If the two aren't connected, a lot of things. If they are, that’s a harder nut to crack.” He scratches his forehead.

“Can you tell me what it is if they are connected?” Derek raises his eyebrows.

“Not without checking some books first. I’ll need a few hours, if not days to research,” Stiles sighs, handing the tube back.

“We need answers as soon as possible.”

“Well, I didn’t clone myself yet. I can get Lydia to get on it while I work, but I can’t promise an answer sooner than at least a day. Sorry, dude.”

“I can help.” Derek sighs, sliding the tube back in his pocket.

“And I’m closing up today. As I said, sorry, dude,” Stiles says, a frown pulling at his mouth.

“Close earlier today.”

“Um, buy the place and become my boss, wolf-man. I don’t think you always remember that I have a boss and this is my job, not your playground.” Stiles quirks an eyebrow, simply looking at Derek, clearly unimpressed.

“If I say ‘please’, will you do it?” Derek asks cautiously, to which Stiles blinks, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Oh, that would certainly help,” he says, a sassy smirk taking over his expression. Derek rolls his eyes.

“ _Please_ ,” he grits out, crossing his arms. Stiles gapes at him, mouth open comically wide.

“Wow, you actually said it,” he breaths, shaking his head to school his expression. “Okay, um, let me do some preparations then we can go upstairs.” He grins.

He does something on the computer, sucking his lips in in concentration, tongue peeking out. Then he turns off the screen, moving to the back of the area. He turns some switches, dimming the light in the front of the store, turning them off in the back completely.

“That’ll do. Come on,” he says, coming out from behind the counter and locking it, passing Derek on his way to the stairs.

When they get upstairs, Stiles heads straight to a shelf closest to the sofas, pulling out some books then a tablet behind them. Then he moves to the coffee table, putting the tablet on top of it, propping it up so the screen is to Stiles, tapping away on it. As Derek steps closer, he can see the door of the shop on it, so they will see any movement happening there. Apparently, the tablet is connected to the CCTV camera.

“Here. Now, sit, I’m gonna get some books on the topic and we can do our research,” Stiles says, gesturing to Derek to take a seat as he goes back to the shelves, running a finger over the spines of books. Stiles takes about ten books back to the table, picking some for himself, then handing four to Derek. “Good luck to us,” he says, plopping down on the sofa, opening one of the books.

Derek huffs, picking one book at random, flipping it open and leaning back in the armchair, trying to find a comfortable spot to settle. Stiles bounces his leg again. This time, Derek doesn’t say a word.

They research for a while when Stiles’ phone starts to ring, startling them out of their reading. Derek looks over, seeing Stiles pull out the device, frowning at it as he swipes at the screen, turning the ringing off.

“Well, time for me to close,” he sighs, stretching.

“If I help with the stock-taking, can we stay longer?” Derek offers, surprising himself. Since when is he so generous with Stiles?

“Uh, sure. Come on, wolf-man.” Stiles stands and heads for the stairs. Derek follows him. When they arrive downstairs, Stiles walks over to the checkout, opening the counter and turning on the computer screen again. “We do this like last time,” he says, pulling out the item list from the desk.

Derek takes it and moves to the first items, starting to dictate the numbers. They finish fifteen minutes later, Stiles turning off the computer, going to the front door to turn the sign and locking it. They go back upstairs, Stiles fighting a yawn as they sit and get the books again.

“Uh, okay, wolf-man, it’s starting to get late,” Stiles says an hour later, yawning and rubbing a hand over his face.

“I could stay,” Derek says, trying not to lose the paragraph he’s at.

“I’m sure but I haven’t eaten anything since noon, and I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours now.” Stiles groans, rubbing at his eyes.

“Let’s order something.” Derek sighs after a short hesitation, pushing away the book he had open. “My treat.”

“For real?” Stiles blinks at him, looking at the clock. “Wolf-man, you should go home and get some sleep too.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go home,” Derek mumbles.

“Fine,” Stiles sighs, pulling out his phone and dialling, yawning into his fist as he waits for the line to connect. “Hi, I would like to order two meat lovers pizza-- unless you’re vegetarian?” Stiles covers the speaker, looking over at Derek who shakes his head. Stiles nods, telling them the address and the name of the shop. He hangs up when they promise the pizza will be there in twenty minutes.

“I’d ask why you don’t want to go home if I didn’t know you’re not going to answer,” Stiles mentions, snorting.

“My family is annoying,” Derek grunts, crossing his arms as he leans back in the armchair. “Even more annoying than you are.”

“You live with your family?” Stiles asks, eyebrows raised with a soft smile. Derek shoots him an unimpressed look. “No, not judging! I’m actually impressed. I’m a very family-oriented person as well, I guess you just look old enough that you would want to have some privacy.”

“I have my own place,” Derek states. “I just don’t bother to use it because my family would come over anyways.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. Me too. I have a place in town with Lydia - we go to uni together, so we figured living together wouldn’t be so bad- but my dad is alone since I moved out and I don’t want him to turn into the weird old man who keeps his kid’s room the same for years. When I’m in town, now for the summer break, I like to be home with him.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that, so he nods, looking back down on his book, eventually picking it up. Stiles sighs, doing the same and they fall silent until there's a knocking sound from downstairs and Derek turns his head.

“What?” Stiles frowns at him, to which Derek gestures to the stairs with his head.

“Pizza is here,” he says.

“Oh. I didn’t hear, thanks, wolf-man.” Stiles stands, going through his pockets until he finds his wallet, but Derek stops him as he heads to the stairs.

“My treat,” he insists, pulling out his own wallet and taking out a note from it, handing it to Stiles. He takes it, grinning, and rushes downstairs. Derek can hear him unlock the door, thanking the delivery man and paying for the food. The smell of fresh pizza fills the air, and Derek takes a deep breath, not realizing until now how hungry he is.

“Dinner for two from the best place nearby,” Stiles says from the stairs, balancing the boxes in his hands as he climbs up. Derek pushes some books away to make room for them, and Stiles places them on the coffee table, plopping back down. “Bon appetite.” He grins, opening a box and taking a slice.

Derek does the same, taking a bite out of his, sighing at the flavors. He eats only three slices, wiping his hands off on the napkins Stiles has put between them, then picks up his book and start reading again while Stiles still eats, humming.

“So, just how many siblings do you have?” Stiles asks.

“A few,” Derek answers, not looking up.

“That must be so cool. I’m an only child.” Stiles yawns, shaking his head after. “The closest to a sibling I've ever had is Scott. Known each other since kindergarten.”

“That’s way too much time put up with Scott,” Derek mumbles, turning pages.

“Well, that just proves he’s my brother. I bet you’d say the same about your siblings.” Stiles has a point, but Derek isn’t about to tell him. “It’s been only my dad and me for a while. Scott has been there for me when I needed him. Yeah, he’s thick sometimes, but he’s my brother and he doesn’t have to have the same DNA for that.”

“You could use some of his genes, though,” Derek says, trying to tease. Stiles blinks at him. For a moment, Derek fears he has offended him. Then Stiles suddenly cracks up, laughing loudly with his head thrown back.

“Dude,” Stiles squeaks, wiping tears away from his eyes as he calms. “Have you seen the guy’s jawline? I don’t want any of that, thanks.” He shakes his head, still grinning. Derek smirks, shrugging.

Stiles is still amused as he finishes his slice, wiping off his hands and taking a book in his lap. An hour passes in relative silence, then Stiles puts his book down, stretching and yawning.

“It’s really time for us to go home, wolf-man. I’ll continue this tomorrow. If you give me your number, I can text you when I find something,” he says, pulling out his phone.

“Fine,” Derek grunts, taking Stiles’ phone and typing in his number, not saving it as he hands the phone back to Stiles, who types away on it, then puts it away.

“This was fun. Take your pizza home, you paid for it and we don’t need any more food rotting away here,” he says as he shuts off the tablet in front of him, closing his book. Derek closes the pizza box, picking it up and standing, Stiles on his heels as he heads for the stairs. They stop for Stiles to open the shop door for him, smiling.

“I’ll text you. Good night, wolf-man!”

“Good night, Stiles,” he replies, leaving the shop and walking to his car, not looking back.

——

Stiles texts him the information late the next night. Derek makes a point of not saving his number. His sisters tease him about him texting _someone_ anyways. Isaac doesn’t help either.

“What’s that?”

“What is what?” Derek asks back. Isaac is looking at his chest, brows furrowed.

“Around your neck.”

“A necklace.” Derek rolls his eyes.

“For some reason I don’t take you for the necklace type. A present?” he asks nonchalantly, and now, Derek has a feeling he knows exactly who helped Stiles pick it. It makes sense how Stiles knew the exact shade of his wolf form's eyes. He regrets showing his to Isaac when Talia explained what the different colors meant.

“Shut up,” Derek snarls, clenching his teeth. They park in their usual place, getting out of the car.

“He likes you,” Isaac mentions, matching his steps to Derek’s.

“None of your business,” Derek hisses, opening the door to the shop for Isaac, who grins at him. “And stop being so smug.”

“I helped him pick it out, I’m just glad you like my choice.” He shrugs, waving at Lydia who’s adjusting weapons in a display as they pass her. She just rolls her eyes, not paying them any attention.

“I don’t.”

“The chain around your neck disagrees.” Isaac chuckles, quieting once they reach the library.

“Wolf-man!” Stiles grins, jumping up from his place on the sofa. “How are you on this fine Saturday?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. Derek rolls his eyes. They take their places on the sofa next to Stiles, and the guy gets distracted by the other players.

Derek is looking at him, watching him gesturing wildly, grinning and laughing. Maybe he doesn’t dislike Stiles as much as he likes to pretend. Still, he can’t place exactly when he became less annoyed and more at ease about meeting Stiles.

It’s bad. He knows once his sisters find out he doesn’t mind Stiles’ company they’ll be unbearable. It doesn’t matter. He just has to make sure they never find out.

——

Derek’s getting tired of this, being Deaton’s errand boy. The only thing that somehow makes it bearable is Stiles' presence.

He has realized by now, that Stiles doesn’t need to be listened to. He just needs to talk. So when Derek tunes out his rambling and just listens to him talk mindlessly, it’s actually soothing. A nice contrast to his sisters’ constant demand for attention. He doesn’t have to answer Stiles, doesn't have to attempt to listen to him and doesn’t have to make small talk.

Stiles seems content having someone to talk to, other than the wall; if it wasn’t weird, he’d probably talk to inanimate objects too. No, scratch that - Stiles probably does that. And he’s probably used to his companions tuning him out, because he doesn’t force a conversation either.

So Derek somewhat likes to be in his presence; he just didn’t know Stiles felt the same.

“Wolf-man, bright and smiley as always!” Stiles greets him as he walks up to the checkout, and Derek frowns. “Yeah, I look great today, don’t I?” Stiles asks, stepping back and stretching his shirt out to show off the text on it. It says: “Exercise?” with a drawing of French fries, then the following text underneath: “Oh, I thought you said extra fries!”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t matter, because fries.” Stiles shrugs, grinning. “So, Deaton’s order?” Derek nods, and Stiles doesn’t even hesitate as he exits the checkout, going to the back to get the box. He’s rambling about food on his way. Derek tunes him out.

“Dude, fries! Dipped in ice cream!” Stiles exclaims as he gets back, leaning forward to look at Derek with wide eyes. Derek raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t know what Stiles is talking about. He says as much. “Uh, whatever. But if it turns out you’re one of those people, I’m taking my liking of you back.”

“Because you like me,” Derek deadpans, tapping his finger on the display impatiently.

“What, is that not allowed?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “You come with instructions? ‘God forbid you take liking of this hot werewolf. Doesn’t talk much. Glares a lot’,” Stiles says, changing his voice to deeper and monotone. Derek snorts at that.

“And you like me for my glares?” he asks, watching as Stiles scans the box.

“It’s all in the eyebrows, dude. And it helps that you’re ridiculously hot and talking to me, doesn’t happen as often as I’d like.” He shrugs, clicking away on his computer. Derek narrows his eyes.

“I have a personality too, you know.”

“Is that you saying you’re not just a piece of meat? Because, dude, there’s more muscles than meat there, that’s for sure.” Stiles smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. “But nah, I know that. When you’re actually making effort to interact with people, not just barking orders, you’re kinda cool. Like when last time you argued Kyle to let Isaac fight the guard on our RPG? That was nice.” he shrugs, putting the box on the counter.

“Who is Kyle.” Derek frowns, taking the box.

“Oscar.” Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek frowns. “Anyways, have a nice day, wolf-man. See ya!” Stiles grins, waving at Derek as he turns to leave.

——

Derek likes Stiles. This is such an alien and terrifying thought that he doesn’t go to the shop for two weeks even when Deaton insists his delivery is very important. And magically, the world doesn’t end when Deaton goes to get his own stuff. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Except Isaac comes back from one of the play parties, mentioning Stiles seemed upset that Derek wasn’t there.

He doesn’t go to the shop because he feels bad he disappointed Stiles. He goes because Isaac said they could really use his character in the game.

When they arrive, Stiles is unusually quiet, going through his papers while the others chat around him, only brightening when Isaac hands him two character sheets and he looks up, spotting Derek taking his place next to him.

“Wolf-man! I missed you!” He grins, back straightening as he ignores his papers in order to beam at Derek. “I mean, we, the group. Oscar almost died last time because there was no one to save his ass,” he says, and Derek is ready to answer when Oscar (Kyle) chimes in, arguing that he could handle himself.

They play, and it’s relatively easy this time. He doesn’t have to worry about the dice rules, because Stiles takes care of it.

“We always meet like this,” Stiles mentions at the end of it, when everybody leaves. Derek raises his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“In the shop. It’s getting old. I’m starting to feel like I don’t have a life outside this shop.”

“Then go out.”

“Is that an offer?” Stiles tilts his head to the side. Derek rolls his eyes. “No, but seriously.” he grins. “I’m going to take it as one if you don’t deny it.”

“What could we possibly do outside the shop?” Derek decides to humor him, crossing his arms.

“Um, okay, go out to eat, go to the cinema, take a walk in the park, go to a carnival--“

“These are all date programs,” Derek points out, furrowing his brows. Stiles smirks at him, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

“Only if you bring me flowers and chocolate. Though, I’m not against creepy symbols either,” he notes, crossing his arms.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’re a douchebag without manners.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove it.”

“Why should I? You can’t even dress up nicely.” Derek looks over Stiles’ outfit that includes a drawing of a taco this time. Stiles gapes at him, holding a hand over his heart.

“Oh, says the guy who has a dozen versions of the same shirt. You know what, fine. Tomorrow, at eight. I’ll text you the address.” Derek furrows his brows, opening his mouth to tell Stiles off, but the guy beats him to it. “But you have to wear something else as well. With a tie.”

“Why would I do that?” Derek squints, puffing out his chest.

“Because you like me.” Stiles grins, smug as ever.

“Do I?” Derek hums.

“You totally do.” Stiles grins. “What do you say, wolf-man, is that a date?”

“I’m not going on a date with you,” Derek states.

“Geez, fine, come to a non-date with me then. As friends. We can even split the bill, although I’m a bit short on money, so we can’t go to one of those restaurants where there’s no prize on the menu and I don’t know which fork to use.”

Derek wonders just how loaded Stiles thinks Derek is, but he’s not about to correct him. He sighs, drawing pros and cons. He decides if he’s being discreet about it, there’s no harm in a meal with a friend, if they’re that.

“Fine. Pick a place and we meet there. I’m not letting you in my car.”

“Rude. I’ll text you.” Stiles grins smugly, waving to Derek as he leaves the room. Derek wonders just why he accepted the invitation as he steps out of the shop.

——

Derek isn’t nervous. Not at all. He’s just a little stressed. And not because of the dinner. He knows how these things go. Knows what not to talk about in order to not make it a date. What’s better: he decides not to talk at all during the meal. That’s going to make sure he doesn’t get Stiles’ hopes up, if the boy has any. Maybe Derek has some. He doesn’t fucking know what his life is anymore.

Just months ago he would have done anything at all to avoid any interaction with the boy. Now he’s going on a date with him. That’s just not how it works in real life. These things only happen in movies. If this was a date of course. It’s not.

Stiles texts him the address an hour before eight, and Derek is relieved, because the place is close to his place, he has time to get ready. He picks out an outfit - a button-up for a change - and makes sure twice he doesn’t look like he’s put effort in his looks.

Derek doesn’t reply to Stiles’ text as he drives to the little dinner. He hopes Stiles doesn’t think he hasn’t seen the text and isn’t going. He likes their burgers. It would be a shame to show up there alone.

Stiles is there, waiting for him, leaning against an old, beat up blue jeep, looking down at his phone. He has a black shirt on with some white text on it, but from the distance Derek can’t make out what it says.

Derek parks his car not far from him where he finds a free spot and shuts off the engine, leaning back and sighing. He’s really doing this. He’s having dinner with Stiles of all people. How did his life come to this?

He gets out of the car, pocketing his keys after he locks it; double checks for good measure, looking around for any suspicious shadows. As he gets closer he can finally read the text on Stiles’ shirt. It says: “I’m not weird, I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles only looks up from his phone when Derek steps up to him. He opens his mouth to say something, but no sound leaves his throat as he eyes Derek up, mouth still open. Derek’s impressed he doesn’t drool.

“Dude, nice outfit,” Stiles says, looking back up to the ‘wolf’s face, grinning. “This is the part where you give me a compliment as well,” he encourages, to which Derek rolls his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says. Stiles snorts, pushing himself away from the car and pocketing his phone, walking besides Derek, falling in step.

“My shirt is awesome. I have one in your size in my car as well.”

“I’d rather swallow a cup of wolfsbane.”

“You know, I always wondered about masochists mindsets. Is it like a kink, or more like a relief thing?” Stiles wonders aloud.

“Right now it would be life-saving,” Derek grunts, eyes fixed on the asphalt.

“Hmm, interesting, on a scale one to ten, how much do you--“

“Stiles.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll keep my questions for later. Have you been here before?” He gestures to the diner. Derek nods. “Dude, they have the best fries, _the best_ ,” Stiles swears as they near the entrance. He rambles on about how he first came here, with his dad, years ago. He shuts up once they enter, looking around. “Can I pick? My favorite booth is free,” he says and Derek shrugs, gesturing for him to go ahead.

They sit in a booth by the window. Derek doesn’t know what’s so special about it, but he doesn’t comment. It’s not long before a waitress walks up to them, placing menus in front of them, smiling.

“Hi, my name is Stacy and I’ll be your waitress today. Take your time with the menu, can I get you anything to drink?” she asks, and Derek pushes away his menu.

“I know what I want. Stiles?” he asks, looking at the boy, who didn’t even touch his menu as he nods. “I’ll have the beef burger menu, with soda.”

“Sounds great.” Stacy scribbles it down, turning to Stiles.

“Cheeseburger with curly fries and cola. Thanks,” he says, smiling at Stacy, who takes their menus.

“Coming right up, if you need anything else, just shout.” she nods, walking away.

“So, how deep did you have to dig in your closet for the shirt?” Stiles asks once she’s gone. Derek rolls his eyes.

“Just as deep as you had to dig in someone’s garbage for yours.”

“I let you know, I have a lot of nice shirts. Not voluntarily, because Lydia doesn’t show up on campus with me if I’m wearing anything but what she picked, but I have them and wear them.”

“You go to university?” Derek raises his eyebrows. He heard Stiles say so before, but it’s hard to imagine Stiles anywhere else than cramped, messy places.

“Mm.” Stiles nods, pushing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Me and Lydia are only home for the summer break. Once fall rolls around, we’re off to LA again.”

“How do you have the job then?” Derek asks, confused.

“Joe was one of my dad’s former co-workers. He quit to open the shop, and has been handling it alone ever since, but… He has a family too.” Stiles shrugs, picking up a napkin and starting to fold it. “They wanted to go on vacation in the summer, so this time around he hired temporary workers. From there, you can guess - I’m bored at home, dad says Joe is looking for people, Joe finds out Lydia is in town as well, hires both of us so we can switch shifts.

“What about you, wolf-man?” Stiles looks up, smiling at Derek, who frowns back at him.

“What about me?”

“Job? Family? Do you have another way too attractive person waiting for you at home?” Stiles raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. Derek huffs, rolling his eyes.

“I got back from New York a year ago. Just finished university. Didn’t really have the chance to get to know anyone,” he says, mentally cursing himself. There goes the avoid date topics rule. Or the talking rule in general.

“You just got out of uni?!” Stiles squeaks, eyes widening. “Dude, you look thirty or something. Must be the beard.” He blinks, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Probably.” Derek snorts.

“Or the permanent scowl on your face.” Stiles shrugs, chucking.

They fall silent as Stacy comes over with their drinks, and Stiles starts to talk about shirts, and how Lydia changed his wardrobe since high school. It’s nothing even remotely interesting to Derek, so he tunes out most of it, but watching Stiles ramble is truly something to see.

By the time their food arrives, Stiles has started talking about different kind of fries, and why certain kinds are different from the others. He eats listening to Stiles go on about cheeses - he didn’t know there was so much to say about cheese and its history, but apparently he was wrong.

“Dude, these fries, I swear to God,” Stiles moans when he’s done explaining the importance of getting the cow in a good mood to have sweeter milk. At this point, the only thing left on the table is a basket full of curly fries Stiles ordered after they finished their first order.

“These are just fries, Stiles,” Derek sighs.

“Just fries?!” Stiles flails, squeaking. “Dude, you’re so wrong,” he deadpans, unimpressed, and goes into yet another rant about fries.

They stay until ten, then Stiles gets a text and sighs, telling Derek he has to go. He goes to the toilet before leaving and Derek stands, going to the checkout to handle the bill. Stiles said they’re going to split the bill, but after Stiles mentioned - and Derek doesn’t know how he even _remembers_ that comment - that he’s so broke he can’t even buy proper cheese, Derek decides to pay just this one time.

It doesn’t make it a date. It _doesn’t_.

Stiles returns, and probably forgets the food isn’t for free, because he doesn’t mention it as he moves to the door, telling Derek about soaps.

They fall silent as Stiles stops in front of his jeep, looking up at Derek and smiling broadly at him.

“Thanks for tonight, wolf-man.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek says, eyes roaming over Stiles’ face, landing on plush lips. Stiles' tongue peeks out for a moment, wetting them. They stand there awkwardly, and Derek is about to move to leave when Stiles curses under his breath, stepping in front of Derek and pulling him in by the collar of his shirt. Their lips meet for a few moments, dry and closed and awkward.

Stiles lets go then, stepping back and flushing, clearing his throat as he rubs at the back of his neck.

“Shit. Sorry. I know you said it’s not a date, and I probably made this as awkward as possible. Sorry. I don’t know, I mean, I know why I did it, it was very tempting for weeks now, I just. You know, if you’re not okay with it. Um. Just,” he trails off, seemingly loss for words. Derek sighs, rolling his eyes.

“This wasn’t a date,” he states. Stiles looks up, eyes wide and worried. “I didn’t bring you flowers,” Derek huffs, looking away. Stiles doesn’t say anything for a moment, then cracks up, the sound way too loud in the quiet parking lot.

“Dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek scowls, looking back at the boy.

“Sorry, wolf-man.” Stiles grins dopily shifting on his feet. “Uh, so this is okay?” he asks, gesturing between the two of them.

“Yes.”

“Wow, stop with the compliments, wolf-man, I’m blushing.” Stiles rolls his eyes, snorting then taking another step back. “I really need to go though. Talk to you later?” he asks, hopeful, pulling out his keys and fidgeting with them.

“Deaton will need his order.” Derek nods.

“Oh my God you’re the worst,” Stiles groans, but his smile betrays him. “Good night, wolf-man,” he says softly, then turns, opening the door to his jeep. Derek heads back to his own car, looking back over his shoulder as he hears Stiles driving away, honking once as he passes Derek.

Maybe it was a date. Maybe Derek doesn’t mind that much after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://assisreal.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hi, and here's a [rebloggable post](http://assisreal.tumblr.com/post/163084648762/not-playing-by-the-rules-by-saori-for) if you want to share the fic! Also check out the [Sterek Summer exchange](https://stereksummerexchange.tumblr.com/) for more awesome fics and gifts!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated, I learn from your constructive criticism!


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